


Renegade

by saccarines (orphan_account)



Series: you're breathing in fumes [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Consent Issues Via Sex Pollen, M/M, Renegade!Dick, Robin!Damian, Sex Pollen, Sleeping with the enemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/saccarines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renegade is dangerous. He’s a world-famous hitman for one thing. The apprentice of Deathstroke for another. He’s first on the list of people Damian should not be spending time with, or thinking about, or researching. Of course, none of that stops him.</p><p>[sequel now up! series formerly titled Renegade]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 99 Problems

**Author's Note:**

> I got to write a little bit of Renegade before but I wanted to give him a verse, so here we go. Also [Skinny Love - Gavin Mikhail] is kind of how I view the progress of DickDamian for this story.

It’s not something Damian is proud of, but he spends a lot of time thinking about Renegade.

He can justify it to anyone who might find out; Renegade knows who he is so he’s trying to even the playing field. When Renegade first appeared in Gotham, Damian had only been Robin for a few weeks. The rogue had focused mostly on Batman, taunting him with information no normal criminal should have known (he knows Red Hood was Robin once, but then again, Red Hood seems to be telling a lot of criminals that these days). Damian, for his part, let them banter while he took out mobs of thugs and stopped bank heists.

Things are different now. Renegade doesn’t seem to care much about Batman anymore. His focus lies on Robin: teasing him, picking him up, touching him, kissing him, and the multiple threats/promises to someday take Robin home/kidnap him. At first, Robin _loathed_ it. He didn’t want attention for being… _cute_ …he wanted attention for being a good detective and a fearsome fighter.  

Renegade has a way of…wearing that opinion down (more like smashing it to bits, really). Damian doesn’t get much leeway in the family. He’s a violent Robin, a wild card, and the others are always on guard around him. Even his father doubts him, though less often than he used to. Renegade, though, likes Damian the way he is, and tells him as much, very loudly and very often.

Of course, Renegade is also crazy.

Damian isn’t sure if he believes Renegade is _truly_ insane, but he does stupid things. He jumps off buildings without shooting a line, he pushes Damian off rooftops for _fun_ (granted, he always catches him, but _still_ ), he hires thugs to kidnap Damian and leave him in various places around Gotham so they can spend _time_ together. He laughs in the face of the Joker (Damian has seen him do it) and he has never once been caught by Batman. They don’t even know his name. They know _everyone’s_ name.

(Renegade knows his name. Damian isn’t sure how or when he found out, but at least he’s discrete enough to only call him by it _after_ he’s taken out anyone in the area who could overhear. He has nicknames for him too: Dami, Little D, Baby Bat, Batling ( _that_ list goes on as well).)

One of the more frustrating things about the rogue is his…physique. Damian isn’t without libido, he can recognize that Renegade is attractive. He’s got an acrobat’s body, slim and toned in the right places without added bulk. By comparison, Damian may as well be a ballerina, which is something else that Renegade seems to like (and Damian knows what ‘size kink’ is, but he wasn’t ever expecting to be _involved_ in one).

(Even Red Hood has noticed it. Whenever Damian encounters the former Robin, he just starts _laughing_ and Damian is generally too embarrassed to continue the pursuit.)

So, yes, Damian may have a slight interest, bordering on obsession, but he keeps it hidden. Until, of course, he doesn’t.

-

Robin edges away from Renegade, trying to stay contained in his bubble of anger and self-doubt. He isn’t ready to feel better yet. Bruce distrusted him. _Again_. Always choosing Tim over Damian, never thinking about how Damian is supposed to take it.

Below them, the traffic on the bridge is halted and loud, rush hour at its finest. They sit high above, on one of the bridge posts, each on their own adjacent sides, legs hanging over the edge. Renegade has a small cup of pink-colored ice cream, taking turns between staring at Damian, offering him bites, and eating it himself.

The fourth time it happens, Damian smacks his hand away, “Leave me _alone_.”

Renegade sighs, “Well, we both know that isn’t going to happen, so you can continue to sit here and mope or you can talk to me about it. Only one of us has a grapple and it isn’t you, so I don’t see you getting down from here anytime soon.”

Damian glares at him, pulling the edges of his jacket closer. He’s in civilian clothes except for his Robin mask (a precaution, even if Renegade _does_ know who he is). “I can wait until you fall asleep.”

“I can leave you up here and come back when _you’re_ asleep,” Renegade counters, taking a bite with the small plastic spoon. Damian frowns, shifting on the surface of the pillar. “I may not seem like it, but I’m a decent listener. I _have_ a day job.”

“Batman doesn’t trust me. Figure out _that_ one.” Damian grumbles, folding his arms.

“ _That’s_ all you’re upset about?” Renegade chuckles, “I thought it was something else.”

“What do you mean, _that’s all_? It’s important.”

“But it isn’t. Batman doesn’t define who you are, what does it matter if he trusts you?” Renegade waves a hand, “He’s not important enough for you to worry about.”

“You are _not_ a good listener,” Damian frowns, turning back to stare at the traffic below. He doesn’t move as Renegade shifts over to his side of the pillar, pressing close to his shoulder.

“So maybe I don’t get it. It’s been a long time since I had a parent to please.”

It shouldn’t surprise Damian that Renegade knows Batman is his father either.

“Just so you know,” Renegade says, tossing his empty carton aside, “I don’t think you need to change.”

“I _know_. You say it all the time.”

“That annoys you?”

“ _You_ annoy me.”

“I don’t think I do. I think,” Renegade leans closer, breathing down the collar of Damian’s shirt, “you’re annoyed that you like me _so much_.”

Damian leans away, glaring, “I do _not_ like you.”

Renegade laughs, “Oh, you _do_! Do you think about me?”

“I _think_ about ways to _incapacitate_ you,” Damian snarls, moving away without falling off the edge.

“But that’s assassin code for love, right?” Renegade smiles widely, “I really _do_ want to take you home right now.”

“How can I like you if I don’t even know your name?” Damian demands in triumph, averting the subject of the conversation.

Renegade sits back, frowning slightly. He hesitates before answering, “That’s unfair.”

“You know my name.”

“I figured it out on my own.” Renegade sighs, “I _prefer_ that you don’t know my name.”

“- _tt_ \- You can dish it but you can’t take it?”

Renegade frowns, “Don’t be a brat, Damian. Besides, you don’t _have_ to know my name to like me, obviously, because you already _do_.”

“I do _n_ -!” Damian yelps as Renegade grabs him around the waist and pulls him into his lap. Damian’s heart hammers in his chest, not in a remotely safe position to be hanging one hundred plus feet above traffic.

Renegade smiles up at him, holding his chin loosely, “We both know you do, Batling. Might as well accept it.”

Damian glowers, “Stop _calling_ me that.”

Renegade smiles indulgently, “Whatever you say, Dami. I’m going to kiss you now.”

Damian only half-protests as Renegade grips the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss. The rogue’s tongue swipes across his lips insistently, one hand pushing under Damian’s shirt and rubbing circles into the jut of his hipbone.

Damian furrows his eyebrows, opening his mouth and letting Renegade’s tongue sweep in. A gust of wind blows through Damian’s hair, ghosting across his skin and forcing a shiver to run down his spine. Renegade presses him closer, adjusting his hold on Damian.

Renegade’s tongue runs over Damian’s guiding it into his own mouth so he can suck on it greedily. Damian groans, hips rolling forward without a thought. Renegade hums around his tongue, digging blunt nails into Damian’s skin through his gloves.

He pulls away slowly, keeping his face close to Damian’s, and Damian feels his hand trail from his hip to the back waistband of his bands. “I’m going to push you now.”

It takes a moment for Damian to compute, “What?”

Renegade shoves him back and Damian falls through the air, scream on his lips. His stomach lurches, unused to free fall without a grapple. For a moment, Damian thinks he might hit the ground. Then there is a hard pull on the back of his pants and his movement is halted, just above the hood of a car.

Damian tries to even out his erratic breathing, looking up hastily. Somehow, Renegade managed to hook parts of his line through his belt loops to create a quasi-swing. Damian sees Renegade wave cheerfully before standing and running across the wire of the bridge, back towards Gotham.

Damian closes his eyes, head hanging. Maybe Renegade _is_ crazy.

(Damian is almost positive of that fact when he wakes up in the Manor the following morning with a post-it note stuck to his forehead, the elegant ‘Starts with a D’ in shining blue marker scrawled across it, and tender lips.)

 

 


	2. Snow Patrol

Winter in Gotham is the _worst_. Damian is unused to prolonged exposure to the cold, despite that one year his mother made him train in the mountains, and he _loathes_ snow. It’s too white and too cold and it crunches under his boots too easily for surprise attacks.

Damian pulls his cape around him as another gust of wind blows through him. He can see his breath and he knows by the time patrol is over his nose will be pink and his limbs frozen. Winter is _not_ his natural habitat.

The holiday lights that are still up (it’s been a week, and Damian is sick of seeing them) light up the block, illuminating at snow-covered walkways and cars parked along the curb. For Gotham, Damian supposes it’s all very picturesque. No Mr. Freeze, no problems.

He shifts as the communicator in his ear crackles to life, “What is it?”

“Evening to you too,” Oracle replies dryly.

“Oracle,” Damian says dryly.

Oracle snorts, “Not much better, Robin. Batman is investigating a break-in at Wayne Tech. He wants you down there ASAP.”

Robin cups his hands around his mouth, breathing out hot air to warm his nose, if only briefly, “Understood.”

“…okay, then.” He can picture Oracle shaking her head as she disconnects from his frequency. Robin moves to the edge of the roof he’s perched on, gutter protesting against holding any weight in the cold. He shoots his line at the nearest lamppost and swings into action, heading for his father’s company.

-

When Damian arrives on the scene, the police are pulling up. To avoid unwanted chatter, he swings up to one of the decorative ledges attached to the building, easily dismantling and slipping through one of the glass windows. The layout of the building is only familiar to him through blueprints on the computer in the Cave, and it takes Damian longer than he’s happy with to find Batman.

“Robin,” Batman greets as he enters the office of Bruce Wayne, “I take it you got Oracle’s message?”

“Obviously,” Damian’s tone lacks its usual bite, satisfied to be out of the cold. “What happened?”

“There were reports of a suspicious figure in the building, apparently posing as one of the janitorial staff. He broke in after business hours and made off with a few documents.”

“ _Paper_ documents? Then what’s the problem, everything is backed up on the computer.”

“Not everything,” Batman denies, “Mr. _Wayne_ says that these files were kept off all drives to avoid hacking. Something to do with Lex Luthor and a lawsuit against Superman.”

Damian resists the urge to scoff at his father’s affection for the alien. He thinks he may be the only member of Batman’s brood who has never looked up to the Man of Steel.  “ _So_? Superman should be able to handle himself.”

Batman answers after a beat, “As a member of the Justice League, it’s my duty to make sure Superman is legally untouchable, as well as kept safe from the only man in the world who possesses enough Kryptonite to kill him.” ‘ _besides me’_ is left unsaid. “As one who fights for justice, it’s _your_ duty to want the same.”

Robin frowns, “… _fine_. What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to get to the Batsignal. Jim Gordon is waiting there with a plate that will fit over it and alert Superman. You need to tell him what’s going on and send him in my direction.”

“You’re going to shine the _Super Shield_ into _our_ sky?” Damian demands, “Can you not just say his name and he’ll hear you?”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, _Robin_.” Batman growls, “I gave you an order.”

“… _tt_. Very well, _Batman_.” Robin spins on his heel, leaving the room and Batman behind. He clenches his fists as he heads back to the window he used to enter the building, thoughts on overdrive. He knows Batman can call the Kryptonian directly, so why is he sending Robin away?

 _Because he doesn’t trust me_.

Robin grits his teeth, wanting very much to hit something. Batman is at the top of his list.

-

When he arrives on the roof of the police headquarters, Gordon is nowhere in sight. Robin pauses, carefully climbing down from the icy ledge of the roof and looking around. This is just what he needs to top off his night, more time in the _cold_.

Robin scowls, walking closer to the lights and resting a gloved hand on the rim. He catches sight of something in his peripherals, partially hidden behind the structure around the door to the roof. Robin moves to investigate, cautiously stepping closer to the dark outline that slowly turns into a pair of legs.

He narrows his eyes, moving around the corner. “Gordon?” The man is sprawled on the ground, out cold but still visibly breathing. Damian kneels down by his side, inspecting Gordon’s skin for any sign of frostbite. Other than the expected paleness, he looks recently unconscious.

“ _Hello_ , pretty bird.”

Damian spins, sliding only slightly on the icy rooftop. His gaze narrows on the figure standing on the ledge of the roof, hands on his waist, bent slightly forward to make Damian wonder how he’s keeping his balance.

“Renegade.” He flinches as his communicator crackles to life as he’s once again reminded that even though he can’t always hear Oracle, Oracle can always hear his end.

“Robin, if you said Renegade just now, you need to lose him. You aren’t allowed to engage him on your own.”

“I _know_ ,” Damian growls.

Renegade jumps down from the roof, walking easily over the ice. He leans on the Signal, propping up his chin on the heel of his hand. “What orders are you getting now?”

Robin scowls at him, “Leave me _alone_.”

Renegade makes a light _tsk_ ing noise, swaying from side to side just enough for Damian to notice he’s trying to keep warm. He moves before Damian has time to react, sliding forward on the ice and coming to a stop at Damian’s side, plucking the mic from his ear and holding it to his mouth, “This is Renegade to the Bat brood, I repeat, Renegade to the Bat brood.”

Damian makes a grab for it, “Give that back!” Renegade easily evades him, putting distance between them again.

“For any listeners out there tonight, I just thought I’d let you all know that Jim Gordon will be _fine_ , just a little cold when he wakes up.”

Damian runs at Renegade, yelping as the rogue uses the ice and his own momentum to trip him, wrapping a hand in his cape as he flies by and pulling on it until Damian stumbles backwards, half choking.

“As for the little Batling, here,” Renegade smiles down at Damian, “Well, that’s entirely different.”

Damian can’t hear the other end of the conversation but apparently Renegade finds it unsavory because he tosses the device over the roof.

“ _What_ do you _want_?”

Renegade lets go of his cape, sliding back of the ice as if he were skating, “ _I_ just wanted to see you. We haven’t talked since that night on the bridge.”

“-tt- You _must_ be joking. You knocked out Jim Gordon for something as stupid as _that_?”

“You wound me, Damian.” Renegade puts a hand over his heart, “I don’t think wanting to see you is stupid. I think it’s nice. I thought we talked about you playing hard-to-get.”

“I’m not _playing_ , Renegade. If Batman thinks that we’re somehow _close_ , he’ll distrust me even more.”

“ _Ugh_ , Batman again?” Renegade shakes his head, “I have to say, Damian, your dependency on your father is one of your less attractive attributes.”

“ _What_?”

Renegade slides closer, pinning Damian between him and the side of the Signal. “I hate to cut to the chase, but your family will be showing up sooner rather than later.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Are you mad?”

“ _No_.”

Renegade grins, leaning down to Damian’s height, “Are you sure?”

“…I’m not doing this.” Damian frowns. “I’m not in the mood for your word games.”

“…alright, then. Onward to better things.”

Renegade closes the gap between them, kissing Damian as per usual. He presses closer to the boy, working his way inside Damian’s mouth with long, suggesting strokes. Damian can’t help but respond to the action, too used to it to break the habit now.

Renegade grabs Damian roughly, hiking him up and settling him against the cold metal of the Signal behind him. Damian tightens his thighs around the rogue’s waist (to hold himself _up_ is all), surprised at the low sound it gets him from Renegade.

He releases his own surprised noise when Renegade grinds his hips slowly, biting feather-light on Damian’s tongue and dragging his teeth to its tip. Damian feels a shiver run to the base of his spine and feels the uncomfortable pressure grow in his jock.

Renegade releases his mouth, moving down to suck on an exposed part of Damian’s neck, hips still moving languidly, and Damian can feel that apparently Renegade is bare under his uniform. “W-what are you _doing_?”

Renegade bites his mark lightly, pulling away with a grin, “Giving you something to remember.”

He yelps as Renegade drops him on the cold ground, backing up to the edge of the roof. “Why do you always _do_ that?”

Renegade laughs, jumping backwards and onto the ledge, “because it’s fun?”

Damian bares his teeth as Renegade flips backwards off the roof. He leans back against the Signal, glancing at the still unconscious Gordon. It could have been worse, Damian supposes. Gordon could have been awake.

(Damian is still surprised when he enters his room later and finds a small card on his pillow. ‘ _It’s a **strong** name’ _ is written inside, along with a cartoon-ish heart and a smiley face. Damian tosses the card onto his nightstand and promptly falls asleep and does _not_ dream about him.)

 

 


	3. Cat's Cradle

It had _not_ been a good week for Robin. On Monday, there had been a break out at Arkham and few of the prisoners were caught. On Tuesday, Killer Croc got loose in the sewers and _Red Robin_ had to back him up. Wednesday he was banned from patrol for breaking the mailman’s collarbone when he snuck up on Damian in the yard (entirely _not_ _his_ _fault_ ). Thursday meant the Joker, and that was a problem in and of itself. Today, when it’s _finally_ the weekend and time to breathe, there is a cult of cat worshipers attacking a museum for an antique statue of the Egyptian goddess Bast.

 _Cat worshipers_.

To make matters worse, Catwoman is somewhere around the museum trying to get the statue first.

Honestly, Damian prefers _she_ gets it rather than the crazy cultists.

Damian dives behind a large podium as three projectiles are launched at him from the leader of the attack. “Give up Robin! You cannot stop us! The _cat_ eats the _bird_!”

Damian fishes a smoke bomb out of his utility belt, throwing it over his shoulder and waiting for the explosion. The moment he hears it go off, he grapples to the closest rafter, settling back on the thick beam. Below, the cultists are yelling for each other and cursing him in broken Arabic. Or maybe it’s their version of an Egyptian dialect, Damian can’t tell. And it _would_ be a day Bruce Wayne had a charity ball to attend. Meaning no Batman to back him up.

At least it’s not _all_ bad. Most of the cultists are down for the count. The ones that are left are running out of weapons, and Catwoman will most likely get to the statue _before_ the people who want to use it in some kind of dark magic ritual.

“ _Psst_. Little bird.”

Damian looks up, hiding his surprise at seeing the aforementioned woman sitting a few feet from him. She gives him a wicked smile, “What do you say we make a deal?”

Damian frowns. Catwoman is a wild card. Batman seems to trust her, and she knows who they are, but she isn’t always on their side.

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes behind her goggles, “We both want the same thing here. Those guys,” She points, “Out of the way.”

“I’m listening.”  
“There are too many goons down there to take out on your own. You don’t have any interest in the _Bastet_. I propose a temporary partnership. _I_ help you bag and tag the cult. You help _me_ get the statue.”

Damian frowns, “Why would you need _help_ getting the statue? Aren’t you supposed to be a master thief?”

“While I thank you for the compliment, the statue here is a replica. These idiots didn’t realize. The real one was stolen a few hours ago, by another rogue if my contacts have accurate information. I have it on good authority that _he’d_ be willing to barter with you.”

Damian grimaces, “He _who_?”

“Does it matter? Do you want help taking down these goons or not?”

Damian glances down, doing a quick head count. “- _tt_ \- _Fine_. But Batman better not hear about this.”

“Don’t worry,” Catwoman smiles, “What daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

-

Catwoman whistles as she walks around the pile of unconscious cultists. “Not bad, birdie. You may have some kitten in you yet.”

Damian frowns, tugging his cape free of the body fallen atop it, “Let’s just get this over with, _harlot_.”

“ _And_ you’ve ruined it,” Catwoman nods. “According to my contacts, he should be hanging out at the Iceberg Lounge since Penguin is in Arkham. Of course, _everyone_ knows that won’t last long. Anyway, let’s just hope he has the statue on him.”

“ _He who_?” Damian repeats.

“Like I said, does it matter?” Catwoman challenges, “We’ll need to hurry. You know the way?”

Damian nods.

“Then meet me there.”

They split up, Catwoman taking the alleys as Damian sticks to the rooftops. He ignores the frantic beeping of his com, eventually taking the device from his ear and dropping it off a roof. He sets the tech in his mask to incognito before continuing on. He doesn’t need one of the other Bats tracking him down to the Iceberg Lounge of all places.

He lands on the roof of the Lounge just as Catwoman is climbing up the wall, a dark bag slung over her shoulder that she hadn’t had before. She tosses it to him when her feet touch solid ground, “Change.”

“ _What_?”  
“You really think they’re going to let _Robin_ in the club? It’s full of criminals, kitten. When _Bruce_ comes here he’s undercover. You will be too. Even more insurance against Batman finding out.”

Damian looks dubiously at the bag.

Catwoman sighs, “I’m changing too. When you’re done, meet me in the alley below.”

She flips backwards off the roof, leaving Damian to his own devices. He opens the bag, peering inside. White and black fabric with a bit of red mixed in from _something_. A bottle of adhesive remover lies on top of the pile. Hn. At least she was thoughtful.

Damian changes quickly, uncomfortable being in the open air for too long without something covering his skin. The clothes, at least, are things he is accustomed to. A three-piece suit just a tad too big for him, and a red tie that Damian is fairly positive belongs to his father. He shoves the Robin uniform in the bad, tying it closed and hiding it in a shadowy part of the roof. He can come back for it later.

He uses the drain pipe to slide off the roof and into the alley, landing on the hard soles of the monochrome brogues. In the time it had taken him to change, Catwoman has changed into a sleek, black dress and ridiculously thin heels.

He resists the urge to bat her hands away as she straightens his tie, giving him a once-over. After all, _she’s_ the expert at fitting in to exclusive criminal clubs, not he. “Alright. Not bad. If anyone asks who you are, just tell them you’re Matches’ kid.”

“Who?”

“It’s the name your dad uses here,” Selina rolls her eyes, “Doesn’t he tell you birds _anything_? Anyway, here’s your hat and your sunglasses.” She hands him a pinstriped bowler hat and red shades.

“It’s not common for criminals to be in their civvies inside, so you’ll probably recognize him right off the bat. As far as I know, he’s the only rogue here tonight. Get my statue, and as far as I’m concerned, this entire night never happened.”

“And if he doesn’t have your statue?”

“Then find out what he did with it.” Selina leads him from the alley, past the line of people waiting for the club, ignoring the indignant cries a few of them voice.

 

They come to a stop in front of the bouncer, a man built almost as large as the Bat himself, and he looks down at Damian with a deep frown.

Selina leans over Damian’s head, the long hair from her wig falling into his face, “Hey, handsome. Mr. Malone asked me to show his son the sights tonight, and I’d hate to disappoint him. You don’t mind if we just slip inside, do you?”

“Malone?” The bouncer repeats, “This is Matches’ kid?”

“Through and through,” Selina replies, leaning back so the bouncer can get a good look at him.

The bouncer kneels, staring at Damian’s face. Damian stares back, making it obvious that he isn’t intimidated. He’s taken down bigger thugs than _this_.

“Alright. Hand.” The bouncer grabs Damian’s wrist, marking the back of his hand with a large, black ‘X’. “You’re clear.”

“Thanks, hun.” Selina drops a wink, carting Damian into the club.

Damian is scowling at the mark on his hand. It’s not going to be easy to get rid of. The thumping bass of the music rattles in his eardrums, and Damian can smell alcohol and sweat all around them.

“Look alive, kitten.” Selina is scanning the club, “Keep your eyes peeled. There’s a VIP section in back that you can’t see from here, and a second floor. Other than that, this is all there is to the Lounge.”

Damian frowns, “It would _help_ if I knew who we were looking for.”

“Well,” Selina starts, “I ran into Red Hood the other day, and he told me something interesting about a certain rogue in Gotham. Told me that if I had any problems with him, Robin could prove more helpful than Batman. Ring any bells?”

Damian blinks, scowling as the implications set in. “… _Renegade_.”

“Bingo. He’s around here somewhere. I don’t know if he has my statue, but I’m sure you can find out where he has it if it isn’t here.”

Damian surveys the ground floor eyes, darting over the mass of bodies on the dance floor and at the bar. Wherever the man is, it isn’t in the main room. That leaves the second floor and the VIP room. “Here’s another _proposition_. Don’t tell Batman _anything_ about what you see involving Renegade.”

“And why not?” Selina lifts an eyebrow, “What kind of relationship do the two of you _have_ , exactly?”

“Does it matter?” Damian quotes at her, “I’ll get your statue.”

Selina looks like she wants to reply when a waitress stops at her side, whispering something in her ear. Selina nods, patting the woman on the shoulder in thanks. She waits for the waitress to walk away before turning to Damian. “He’s in the VIP room. Apparently there’s a meeting involving some upper-tier mob families back there. Renegade seems to be running the show.”

“ _Gotham_ mob families?”

“I don’t think so. Different city, maybe? Or newcomers. Anyway, the sooner you get back there, the sooner we can call it a night.”

Damian wants to growl, but the cat is right. He’s not exactly unpracticed in dealing with Renegade, either. Just…not with so many people in the vicinity. He heads to the back of the club, weaving through dancing bodies and ducking away from people that look like they want to start a conversation with him.

He slips into the short hallway, glancing up at the camera out of habit. There’s only one door in the hall, and it’s closed. Damian presses his ear to the wood, listening for a familiar tone. He can’t hear anything through the door, but it _is_ the only one past the VIP sign, so Damian opens it anyway.

He hears the conversation drop immediately, all the attention drawn to the opening door. He counts five unfamiliar people sitting on a circular, comfortable looking couch around a round table. The _Bastet_ sits on the table, but none of the men seem to be paying any attention to it. Renegade sits furthest away from the door, reclining on the couch with his arms resting on the back of it, and as Selina had said, he’s in his uniform.

The mob goons look like they’re about to draw guns from their jackets when Renegade holds up a hand, tilting his head at Damian. A tension-filled silence envelopes the room for a moment, eventually broken when Renegade shifts to make room for Damian on the cushion next to him. “It’s alright, boys. He’s with me.”

The men don’t relax as Damian navigates through them. He makes to sit on the couch, but Renegade moves at the last second, causing Damian to fall in his lap. In any other situation, Damian would yell and struggle and climb out of Renegade’s lap and proceed to beat him up. As it is, they’re surrounded by mobsters with guns, so he settles for digging his nails in Renegade’s legs as retribution.

Renegade leans into his ear, whispering so softly that Damian barely catches it. “This is a pretty useless disguise, _Robin_.”

Damian speaks from the corner of his mouth, keeping his tone just as low, “I’m only here for the _statue_. And no one _else_ has recognized me.”

Renegade hums softly, “Well, behave. _Play_ _along_. And I’ll give it to you.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

One of the men clears his throat, “Are we gonna finish or what?”

“Of course,” Renegade replies smoothly, “I just had to make sure no one in the club gave him trouble on the way in. I’m sure you understand.”

“Who is he?” Another asks, “We don’t want no one listenin’ in on our conversations.”

“You don’t have to worry about him.” Renegade pulls Damian so he’s resting against Renegade’s chest, removing the hat and tossing it aside so he can set his chin on Damian’s head, “He isn’t interested in anything you have to say, anyway.”

There’s truth in that. If they’re up to something, it doesn’t really matter. The gangs in Gotham always stamp each other down before they can do anything worth catching the Bat’s attention.

Damian bites the inside of his cheek as Renegade’s fingers settle around his waist, languidly running up and down his sides underneath the suit and shirt. Damian fights back a squirm, keeping his eyes locked on the statue.

The meeting resumes as if Damian wasn’t there, save for the occasional break in which Renegade will milk the situation for all it’s worth. Running his fingers through Damian’s hair. Removing his jacket and slinging it over the back of the couch. Tilting his head up for quick, almost _chaste_ kisses. Offering him drinks of a fizzy, cherry-flavored drink. Damian doesn’t take more than a few sips each time, but if the desired effect is to make his tongue feel like it’s dancing, it’s working well.

All things considered, the gathering only lasts for another half hour before Renegade is sending each of the men on their way with polite parting words. The second the door closes behind the last man, Damian is out of Renegade’s lap and grabbing for the statue.

Renegade catches his waist before he reaches it, pulling Damian back and dropping him on the couch. He hovers over the boy, a patient, teasing smile on his lips. “ _That_ was certainly a surprise, Damian. Did you want to see me so badly that you came here?”

 

“Don’t be _ignorant_ ,” Damian snaps, blinking when Renegade plucks the shades from his face, “Catwoman wants that statue.”

“You work for Catwoman now?” The edge of Renegade’s mask lifts.

“It’s a temporary _partner_ ship. She held up her end, now I have to hold up mine. You _said_ you’d give me the statue if I didn’t _do_ anything to them. I didn’t even listen to what they were saying.”

“I know. You were very distracted.” Renegade grins, “Was that _my_ fault?”

“Get off! I have to-”

“You don’t have anywhere to go. Daddy’s at a charity ball, so he won’t be interrupting us for a while, right?”

Damian opens his mouth, “You…”

Renegade continues to smile, “Yes?”

Damian turns his head, double-checking to make sure the statue is still there. The emerald eyes - _Oh_ , he realizes, _that’s why Catwoman wants it so badly_ – glint back at him.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Renegade’s breath fans Damian’s ear. “Come on, Robin.” He teases, “Don’t you want to play a little?”

Damian scowls. Sure, he’s been less resistant towards Renegade the last few months. Yes, he’s initiated quite a few of their make-out sessions. But. It doesn’t _mean_ anything. Renegade is just toying with him, trying to throw him off, and it’s just easier to go along with it at this point.

It’s not like Damian _wants_ to push himself to his elbows, or tilt his head obligingly as Renegade leans down. It’s not like he _wants_ to open his mouth when Renegade runs his tongue across his lips. He certainly doesn’t want to kiss _back_.

Renegade tastes like one of the bubbly fruit drinks that Damian sneaks at Wayne events, like the one he’d been giving Damian mixed with something similar. His scent invades Damian’s senses, and like always, he smells amazing. Damian is more than willing to admit _that_ , if only because everyone _else_ in Gotham already has.

Damian isn’t sure how long they stay like that, with Renegade alternating between kissing him so hard his lips feel tender and sucking a dark, dark mark on the side of his neck. Renegade seems to be taking his time today, hands never straying underneath Damian’s clothes and hips never coming too close to Damian’s. He’s making use of the time allotted thanks to Batman’s absence.

“Ah- _hem_.”

The boys break apart, both looking to the now-open door. Selina is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and expression a mix of amusement and worry.

“I was _wondering_ what was taking so long.” Selina blinks, “So _this_ is what your relationship is like.”

“What do _you_ want?” Renegade sounds legitimately confused.

“The statue,” Selina reminds them lightly, “My _statue_.”

Renegade sighs, pulling back from Damian. He puts a decent amount of space between them as Damian sits up, reaching for the object. He tosses the statue to Selina, ignoring her outraged yell. “There.” He does _not_ sound breathless. “Consider our debt squared.”

“It wasn’t a _debt_ , Robin. But sure.” Selina holds the statue carefully, inspecting the eyes. “Authentic. You have my thanks, little bird.” She lowers the object, giving the two a curious stare, “I’m assuming _this_ is what you meant when you told me not to tell Batman anything about Renegade?”

“Why are you still here?” Renegade tilts his head, frowning slightly.

Selina rolls her heavily-lined eyes at him before turning and stalking away. The door swings closed behind her, causing a rush of cold air to fill the warm room.

Renegade suddenly groans, flopping back on the couch. “I suppose this means _you’re_ leaving now too. You got what you came for, and _Batman_ is probably trying to get ahold of you.”

Damian is straightening his shirt, trying to ignore the tingling sensation on his neck where Renegade had put his mark. “ _Batman_ never comes home on charity nights. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. That’s what the penthouse is for.”

Renegade is laughing before Damian realizes what he’d said.

“I. - _tt_ -.” Damian averts his eyes. “If you solemnly swear that you won’t stop me from returning home later, I…could stay.”

“ _Solemnly swear_?” Renegade repeats with a grin, “Old school, huh?”

“Just kissing,” Damian continues, folding his arms, “No…shady stuff. Like drugging me or anything like that.”

“ _I_ would never _drug_ _you_.” Renegade replies, “ _but_ okay. Only kissing. Are you going to pretend this never happened tomorrow night?”

“That will be a little _difficult_ ,” Damian says breezily, allowing Renegade to pull him into his lap, “Considering what you did to my _neck_.”

Renegade grins wickedly, “I could put them in less obvious places if you’d prefer.” His tone is sly.

Damian scoffs, “In your _dreams_ , maybe.”

“Oh. _Definitely_ in my dreams.”

(Damian does indeed make it home before Bruce, and he narrowly avoids every question asked about the obvious hickey on his throat. Honestly, he’s just glad they can’t see the _other_ ones.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [continue this scene?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/642291/chapters/1619558)


	4. Complicated and Twisted

Damian has been told few things about his father’s old partner. He’s been told Todd is dangerous. He’s been told the man is crazy. That he’s a ruthless killer with a vendetta against the Bat that could rival the joker’s.

He’s been told many things about the Red Hood, none of which are enough to stop him from proposing a late-night dinner with him on the roof of the Gotham City Bank.

Todd has already eaten three chilidogs, working his way through a fourth. A few more sit on a paper plate between them, and Damian doubts he’ll be eating any before Todd finishes them off.

“So,” Jason swallows his current bite, “what did you want to talk about, bratling?” He seems to think it’s funny, mixing insults with the annoyingly cutesy nicknames Renegade thinks up.

“You associate with many of Gotham’s rogues, correct?”

“More or less,” Jason eyes him, “A few here and there. I hear _you_ do some of the same, though. Working for Catwoman?”

“ _With_ Catwoman, and it was a one-time thing.”

“That’s how it starts. Next thing you know, you’ll be jumping around on rooftops in skin-tight spandex calling yourself Catboy.”

“ _I_ -” Damian frowns, “Stop changing the subject.”

“ _Sheesh_ , kid.” Jason licks the excess chili off his fingers as Damian cringes, “It’s called _banter_. Haven’t you passed that class yet?”

“I know how to _banter_ with someone, Todd.” Damian scowls at the former hero, “It’s _practically_ a requirement for any Robin.”

“Well, you’re bad at it. _Just_ so you know.” Jason goes for another ‘dog, “Your tone is all wrong. You sound perpetually condescending. If you do banter, I’ve never heard it.”

“That’s,” Damian replies stiffly, “because I don’t banter with _you_.”

“Oh, _right_.” Jason leans back, somehow taking up even more space on the ledge, “You banter with your _boyfriend_.”

“He is _not_ -!” Damian stops, realizing his mistake too late.

“ _Yet_ ,” Jason drawls, “You knew who I meant _anyway_. Besides. Your hickey is still pretty noticeable. Have trouble hiding that one from daddy dearest?”

Damian will later deny that his hand flies to his neck. “Shut _up_ , Todd! As _if_ you’ve never been in my position!”

Jason barks a laugh, “Not like _that_ , I haven’t. I wasn’t exactly as popular as you when I was Robin, brat.”

“I am not… _popular_.”

“Well. Not with the _Bats_ , no. But you’ve got Catwoman working with you, that ginger kid trying to be _like_ you, and a pretty notorious rogue out for… _whatever_ he’s out for you for.”

Damian takes a moment before responding, “Renegade is notorious?”

“Yeah. You’ve never looked him up?”

“Because _that_ would go over so well if Father found out.”

Jason lifts his shoulder in a shrug, “What _do_ you know about him?”

“He’s…a hitman. Of sorts. A vigilante for hire.”

“That’s it?” Jason rubs his neck, “Shit, kid. You’ve been playing fire and you don’t even know who lit the _match_?”

“If you aren’t going to _tell_ me, don’t continue _talking_ about it.”

“I’ll _tell_ you,” Jason shakes his head. “It’s something you should _know_ already.”

Damian frowns at Jason’s tone.

“Renegade is…” Jason sighs, straightening. “You know who Deathstroke is, right? At _least_ tell me you know who _Deathstroke_ is.”

“Slade Wilson, gun-for-hire. He has had contact with the League before, though I’ve never met him face-to-face.” Damian sneers, “So _yes_ , I know who _Deathstroke_ is.”

“Then why don’t you know Renegade? They’re the same threat level in Oracle’s system. Actually, Renegade should be _more_ of a threat, considering he’s more _physically_ capable than Deathstroke.”

“Deathstroke isn’t physically incapable.”

“No, but he’s not young either. Renegade _is_.”

Jason reaches for the next chilidog, scowling when Damian snatches it away. He doesn’t want to have to wait for Todd to finish chewing to hear the full story.

“Renegade,” Jason is still scowling as he pulls back, “is Deathstoke’s protégé. You can think of him like a…deadly version of Robin.”

“ _I_ am a deadly version of Robin,” Damian corrects.

“ _Heh_. Well I’ll give you that, even though you’ve clipped your wings. Fine. Renegade is more like Batgirl, then. Bruce trains her, gives her tools and tech, but doesn’t really interact with her otherwise.”

“Depending on the Batgirl,” Damian mutters.

“Renegade is like Black Bat. He and Deathstroke are close. I don’t know _firsthand_ how close, but I know they’re more than mentor and protégé. There’s a…family element, if what Ravager says is anything to go by.”

“Ravager…Wilson’s daughter?”

“She had a stint with the Titans. We fought once. Afterwards, we had a little chat about her daddy issues and Renegade happened to come up.”

Damian mulls over the information. “How long has Renegade been with them?”

“Far as I know, since he was a kid. Ravager… _Rose_ ,” Jason shakes his head, apparently tired of keeping the codenames straight. “She doesn’t say _much_ , but from what I gathered, Renegade’s parents died when he was…eight? Nine?”

Jason holds out his hand, falling into silence. Damian stares for a long moment before slowly handing the chilidog over to him. Jason takes another bite and swallows before continuing.

“Anyway, I don’t know all the details, but Rose says that Renegade wanted to get revenge. Wilson was there that night, for some reason or another, and quote-unquote _saw potential in how cold the boy’s eyes were_.”

Damian blinks, “Well. That’s.”

“Not _done_ , brat.” Jason inhales the rest of his dinner. “Wilson gave him a gun, and let the kid take his revenge. Then he offered him a choice – to be foisted off to the foster care system or be trained by Deathstroke. The rest you can guess.”

“He gave an eight-year-old a gun?”

“When were _you_ given a gun?”

“Never. Mother thought them impersonal. She was of the mind that it doesn’t take skill to pull a trigger. I was given my first _blade_ at three.”

Jason snorts, “You’re worse than he was, then.”

“I wonder…” Damian blinks, “I suppose Grandfather always did attempt to have my body used as his next vessel, but Mother was…I did not hate the way she raised me, even though it is…seen as unconventional.”

“Unconventional is an understatement. Abusive is the word most would use.”

“Mother did not…” Damian frowns. “I was not abused.”

“There’s more than one kind of abuse, and being raised as a killer and having your life on the line if you failed? That’s abuse. And that’s not even scraping the surface.”

“That’s…not how it was,” Damian suddenly feels uncomfortable. He knows his upbringing was different than most, but his mother did… _does_ love him. _That_ is something not even his father seems capable of.

Jason rolls his shoulders, “They say the victims of abuse are the most reluctant to see it.”

“They say _dead men_ shouldn’t walk with the living, yet here _you_ are.”

“You know, _anger_ is a defense mechanism, usually associated with _denial_.”

“You would be the expert on _anger_ , Todd.”

“Yeah, I would.”

Damian allows silence to lapse between them before one of their coms crackles to life. Considering Todd’s… _stance_ with the family, Damian knows it’s his. He brings his finger to his earpiece, pressing down.

“- _tt_ \- R.”

“What’s your locale, Robin?” Oracle’s voice sounds loudly in his ear, but disinterestedly. At least that means they don’t know - or don’t care - he’s spending time with the so-called Black Sheep.

Damian and Jason share a brief glance. “GCB. Why?”

“We’ve got a situation by the docks. Batman had to follow Killer Croc into the sewers, leaving the incoming drug shipment unattended. The boat is docking now. We don’t want these drugs loose on the streets. Put a stop to it.”

“Understood,” Damian stands, reaching for his grapple.  
“And Robin? Bring Hood. You need backup for this.”

Damian scowls as Jason snorts. “ _Fine_.”

-

They arrive at the docks as large, wooden crates are being loaded on to wheeled platforms and rolled down to the docks. They hover in the shadows between two large storage buildings, surveying the full scene. They’re far enough away where stepping out won’t reveal them, but close enough to have an accurate view.

“Twenty guys, give or take. Think you can handle ten?”

“- _tt_ \- Don’t _insult_ me, Hood. Can _you_?”

“Hey. Don’t insult _me_.”

“While I _cringe_ at the phrase, you started it.”

“ _Brat_ , I swear-”

Robin narrows his eyes, interrupting, “There are nineteen men.”

Hood frowns, “I _said_ give or take.”

“There were twenty _before_. Now there are nineteen. Where did the twentieth go?”

“Evening boys.”

Hood and Robin look up, more than surprised to see Renegade leaning over the edge of a fire escape, fingers twined together. His usual disposition of cheery playfulness is absent, replaced by grim… _nothingness_ , and for the first time in a long time, Damian is struck with the thought that Renegade is _dangerous_.  
“You aren’t planning on interrupting my operation here, are you?”

Damian hears the click of Jason’s safety being turned off. The tension in the air is thick, almost palpable.

“What if I was?” Hood is slowly putting space between where Renegade leans above them and the back of the alley. “ _I_ run the drug trade in Gotham, Renegade. Everyone knows that.”

Renegade holds out his arms in a what-can-you-do gesture, “They decided they wanted someone _better_.”

Hood bares his teeth as Renegade turns his gaze on Robin, “I don’t want to hurt _you_ , Robin, but if you’re here to stop me we _will_ be fighting.”

Robin tenses at the cold undertone in Renegade’s voice. It’s not _entirely_ foreign – Renegade always addresses Red Robin and Batgirl that way – but it’s been a long time since he’s…no, it’s the _first_ time he’s ever talked to Robin like this.

It feels… _he_ feels…

Hurt?

“However,” Renegade turns back to Hood, “I don’t see why we can’t come to a business arrangement. We’ve worked together in the past.”

“We have,” Hood agrees bluntly.  
“I made some promises to some very nasty people about these equally nasty drugs. I won’t be breaking it because two boys in kevlar think it’s a good idea to step in.”

“Kevlar’s a bit outdated, don’t you think?” Hood drawls, hand not leaving his holster, “What kind of business arrangement?”

“ _Hood_!”

“Shut _up_ ,” Red Hood replies tersely. “If you haven’t noticed, _brat_ , there are three snipers on the roof above him.”

Robin’s eyes snap past Renegade, easily spotting the three now that his focus isn’t on the rogue. _Oh_. Robin clenches his fingers, throat feeling dry and tight.

“A simple arrangement, really. You can keep running the drug trade in the slums and the Narrows. I don’t particularly care about them. I _do_ , however, care about the docks. Anything that goes on here? Falls under my jurisdiction.”

Hood’s jaw locks, and Robin can see him thinking it over. Eventually his hand strays from his holster, resting on his waits instead. “That puts the entire Bay in your hands.”

Renegade shrugs, “I need it more than you. You do all your work in Gotham, Hood. I don’t.”

Hood folds his arms, keeping wary eyes on the snipers above, “What do I get out of it?”

“To live.”

Hood shares a quick look with Robin, “What?”

“You get,” Renegade repeats slowly, “to live. If you walk away, and leave this operation in my hands, I don’t have to tell them to pull their triggers.”

Hood drops his arms, “You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately, _deadly_.”

Hood takes a step forward, “This is _bullshit_.”

“We’ve worked together,” Renegade holds up a hand when Robin catches the noise of three guns cocking. “We aren’t partners. I don’t owe you any allegiance. It’s not _bullshit_ , Hood, it’s just good business.”

“Fuck _that_!”

“I can understand why you’re angry,” Renegade nods as if he hasn’t got snipers trained on them. “But you lose. I’ve got the advantage here. Be smart, Hood. Don’t be dead.”

Red Hood takes a deep, frustrated breath. He turns, heading for the mouth of the alley, “ _Fuck_. Let’s go, brat.”

“No,” Renegade calls, resting his chin on his hand, “Robin stays.”

Hood looks between the two before looking down at Robin and saying none-too-quietly, “Kill him if you have to.”

Robin feels like snorting, but makes no noise as Hood leaves the alley and disappears around the corner. He doubts Hood will go far. He…trusts him that much, at least, not to leave him in a situation so dire.

Renegade turns, waving off the guns. They retreat, vanishing beyond the ledge of the buildings. The moment they’re gone, Renegade lets out a long sigh, grasping the edges of the fire escape and flipping over the edge.

He lands on the balls of his feet, a few feet from the young vigilante. “Well _that_ could have gone better. I thought with Killer Croc on the lose Batman would have you all focus on _him_.”

He turns, reaching out to ruffle Damian’s hair. Damian reacts instantly, viciously slapping his hand away, “Don’t _touch_ me!”

Renegade stills, almost seeming surprised. “Don’t… _why_?”

“ _Why_?” Damian repeats, half incredulous. “You just had _snipers_ aimed at me.”

“At _Red Hood_ -”

“At. _Me_.” Damian takes a step back, “They would have shot me if I’d done anything.”

“That _is_ generally the idea behind a sniper.”

“You would have been alright with that? Them shooting us?”

“Shooting _Hood_ -”

“ _Shooting me_.”

“We’re not exactly on the same side, Damian. I like you, I _do_. But I have priorities.”

Damian swallows, glaring at the rogue. “If I was in the League, you would have been _dead_ for that.”

“But you’re _not_ , are you?” Renegade ventures a step closer, stopping when Damian takes another one back. “You’re _not_ in the League of Assassins anymore. If you were, our conversation would be going very differently right now.”

Damian bites his tongue. “- _tt_ \- I suppose it _would_.” For once, Damian does not think that’s a good thing.

He turns, storming from the alley and ignoring Renegade’s call. He doesn’t stop. Not when Todd catches up with him a few blocks down, and not when Oracle buzzes in his ear demanding a report.

He doesn’t stop until he gets back to the cave, stripping down and stepping into a scalding shower. He stays under the spray until the water runs cold, until he’s shivering from the temperature and shaking in…in _something_.

He sleeps in the cave that night, unwilling to venture upstairs and see if Renegade left him another note.

And if there is a message when he finally does return to his room, he’s going to burn it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [companion scene](http://archiveofourown.org/works/642291/chapters/1718154)


	5. Misadventures in Botany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, at last. Thanks to Lily for helping out with all of Ivy's parts~ Warnings for sex pollen (dubcon-ish ness) and underage

It has been two weeks and three days since Damian had last seen Renegade, not that he’s been counting.

Since the night the rogue had trained the snipers on he and Hood, Damian has been a mix of anger, hurt, and understanding. He’s angry because Renegade is a dirty, rotten, foul, dishonorable _liar_. He tells Damian he’s interested in the same breath he declares them enemies. Damian is _hurt_ because he’d been right. He’d let down his guard and let the rogue in and _felt_ _something_ and Renegade had _ruined_ it. And what makes Damian the angriest is that he understands _why_ Renegade did it. If _he_ was still League…still in that position, he would have done something similar.

Probably worse.

That does not mean he has to forgive it. That does not mean he has to continue humoring Renegade’s advances or tolerating his presence or giving him the time of night.

During patrol, he sticks close to Batman’s side. He doesn’t disobey orders or go off on his own or respond to distress calls that have Renegade’s strange MO. When he finds cards in his room with the rogue’s symbol, he burns them without reading. He moves on. It’s not as if he and Renegade were actually close. He doesn’t even know the man’s name. It’s not like he’s lost a friend or significant other. He’s simply lost an annoyance. A _bother_.

He’s most disappointed in himself, anyway. He should have expected Renegade’s betrayal. His mother taught him that in the end, the only person worthy of trust was yourself. She’d proved that true. His grandfather had proven that true. And now; Renegade had proven that true. He should have listened. Taken the lesson to heart.

Well. _Now_ he had.

He will not make the mistake of trusting someone again.

He’ll go back to the way things were when he’d first come to Gotham. He’ll keep to himself. He’ll only speak when spoken to, unless he has something unpleasant to say. He’ll be vicious on patrol. He’ll be horrible to everyone. Maybe it will be the push his father’s been looking for to send him back to Talia.

She won’t take him. Not anymore. He’s damaged; doesn’t kill.

Useless to her.

It won’t be hard for her to recondition him, but she won’t forget his defect. She won’t let him forget his defect either.

“Robin.”

Damian snaps to attention, looking to his father. The cowl does nothing to hide his tension. It says everything Damian needs to know. I don’t trust you. You’re different. Wrong. Why can’t I fix you?

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

He blinks, lifting a shoulder and replying bluntly, “No.”

Batman scowls, eyelets narrowing. “We have two distress calls. One is from the Botanical Gardens, so we’re assuming it’s Ivy. The other is in what people are starting to call Renegade’s territory.”

“What are you asking?” Damian frowns.

“We’re splitting up. Choose one.”

Damian doesn’t know if this is supposed to be a test, but he has no desire to see Renegade. “Ivy.”

Batman’s expression doesn’t change, “Oracle will relay the coordinates. I’ll deal with Renegade, then meet up where Ivy’s-”

“I know how to get to the Botanical Gardens,” Damian grumbles, moving to the edge of the roof and shooting his grapple around the nearest street lamp. “I need no coordinates.”

“Robin.”

Damian clenches his jaw, looking over his shoulder. “What?”

“Be careful. Ivy isn’t to be underestimated.”

He thins his lips in reply, and dives off the roof.

-

A heavy mist hangs around Ivy’s lair, and Damian rips off a strip from his cape to tie over his nose and mouth as a makeshift gasmask before he enters the building. It doesn’t take long to find Ivy. The plants and flowers get thicker and larger the deeper he goes.  They don’t seem to care that he’s trudging through, but he’s light on his feet and he keeps his weapons sheathed.

Ivy herself is in the biggest room of the building, sitting on the highest tier of the fountain centered in the indoor garden. If not for the leaves scattered over her torso and… _privates_ , she would be stark naked. It makes Damian less uncomfortable than it would have months before, and he blames Renegade for that, then berates himself for thinking of Renegade at all.

“Look what’s wandered in to my garden,” Ivy drawls slowly, caressing a bulb near her shoulder until petals spring forth. “It’s a lost little bird.”

Damian stops short, raising his voice to be heard through the fabric shielding his mouth, “What are you here for, Ivy?”

“Getting straight to business, are we?” She smiles down at him, and it’s the same kind of smile that Renegade wears. Sultry. A smile designed for getting their way. “Run along, little bird. Selina likes you, and I’d hate to have to hurt you because you were in the way.”

Damian stands his ground, narrowing his eyes.

Ivy sighs, “Very well. I guess I’ll have to dose you and drop you somewhere, then. I’m sure _someone_ will find you before your body overheats.”

“You will not dose me with anything,” Damian reaches for his sword.

“I already _have_ , darling.” Ivy smirks. “You think that cloth protects you from airborne pollen?”

Damian pauses, “I don’t believe you.”

“That’s too bad, because if you get too hot without relieving it, then-” She mimics a pop with her hand.

“I know how your pollen works,” He snaps.

“I _do_ hate to do this to you.” Ivy doesn’t sound sincere.

Damian grits his teeth. He knows how Ivy’s pollen works. If his adrenaline starts pumping – if he fights her – he has five minutes before the effects of the pollen begin to kick in and he has to find the antidote in the nearest bunker (what a night no to pack one). If he remains still, he has a good twelve to fifteen minutes before he’s feeling it. Either way, he’ll have to leave to fetch the antidote. If Ivy lets him leave.

“What are you planning here?”

Ivy shrugs leisurely, “I’m lending a helping hand, unlike you and the Bat. Trying to stop me from giving my children proper care.”

“They aren’t your _children_ ,” Damian spits.

Ivy’s expression drops, “Whatever it is that makes Selina like you, I must be _missing_ it.”

Damian bares his teeth, body tensing up and preparing to fight.

He doesn’t get that far.

Instead, something slams into his back, stealing his air and sending him to the grass with a graceless crash. Before he can scramble to his feet, a vine wraps around his ankles, securing them together and to the ground in a vice hold.

“Why don’t you take a time-out,” Ivy purrs. She is not supposed to be sounding like she’s purring, but then again Damian is not supposed to be breathing in the intoxicating mist for more than a few minutes without proper protection.

Damian growls, twisting around so he can pull his torso off the ground. He bends over his ankles, reaching in his belt for the switchblade he still keeps in one of the compartments. He begins cutting at the vine, ignoring Ivy’s outraged scream, “don’t hurt them!”

Damian barely has time to duck under a thick vine swinging for his head. He doesn’t see Ivy until she’s in front of him, and he muffles the tiniest yelp as she kicks him back to the ground. She rolls him over with her foot, kneeling on either side of his back as she slips into his utility belt.

“The funny thing about you _Bats_ ,” She draws something out of one of the compartments, fastening it around Damian’s wrists, binding them to keep them together. “You keep your zip strips in the same place.”

“Let me _go_ ,” Damian thrashes under her, “Batman will send you to Arkham for this!”

“Scary,” She rolls her eyes as she gets off him, “like I haven’t broken out of _there_ before.”

Damian pants, blood pumping through his veins, spreading the pollen throughout his system all too fast. “If you leave me here,” He manages, “I’ll _die_.” He’ll die in a sex-induced high, to boot. He’ll die _humiliated_. “You’ll become a murderer, even though you’re trying to stop.”

Ivy is quiet for long moment. “No, I won’t,” She finally says. “But I doubt you’ll like this much better.”

-

Damian doesn’t know how much time has passed since he was infected. Damian doesn’t know much of anything right now. He knows he’s curled on his side in the grass, his shivers only held at bay by Ivy’s vines keeping him in place. He knows he’s fucking _dying_ because everything is _hot hot hot_ and he needs something but he doesn’t know what that something is anymore.

Antidote?

No. No, he needs touch. He needs someone to touch him because that’s what Ivy’s pollen _does_. It’s called _sex_ pollen for a reason. The thought brings a giggle – a _giggle_ – from his throat, echoing in the strange pink haze that seems to have clouded the room.

A voice sounds from far away. “I should have just knocked you out.”

Damian can hear the words, but he isn’t sure what they mean. He doesn’t care what they mean. He feels _good_ but he wants to feel _better_ and he doesn’t know how to do that.

Another timeless lapse of silence fills the room, and Damian tries to squirm around to no avail. He curls his toes until they pop, pressing his cheek to the warm grass. His mouth is free now – though he can’t remember it being covered by anything at this point – and he’s using it to productively snap at the air because the sting in his teeth feels better than stewing in arousal.

Eventually there are voices again, though Damian is having a difficult time distinguishing them.

“-got here as fast as I could with the Bat on my tail, _geez_ -”

“I don’t _care_. Take the boy and leave me in peace.”

“How much did you _give_ him, anyway, he looks half _dead_ -”

Damian feels the vines loosen and slide away from him, but he isn’t aware someone is next to him until there’s a hand on his shoulder. Touching him. And he whines for it, his fingers reaching up for more.

A light chuckle reaches his ears and his sense of balance shifts as he’s picked up and hugged against a solid chest. He immediately wraps his legs around the trim waist, arms locking around shoulders as he squirms to press even closer.

“Slow down, Robin.” There’s that chuckle again. “At least let me get home before you grind all over me.”

Damian blinks rapidly, pulling away from the chest, “R- _Renegade_?”

Renegade grins down at him, not at all perturbed that Damian is basically climbing him like a tree.

“ _No_!” Damian says hotly, taking up efforts to unlatch from Renegade. What his mind and body wants right now seem to be two different things, because he can’t make himself let go on either front. “I don’t want to see you,” He hisses.

“Well that’s rude,” Renegade frowns. “I came here to help you, you know.”

“Take me _home_ ,” Damian scowls, “I want the antidote-”

“The antidote only _prevents_ the effects.” Damian doesn’t see why Renegade should know any of this. “You’re already infected.”

“I’m not infected,” Damian protests. “I’m _fine_. Take me home.”

“You _really_ want your dad to see you like this? _Red Robin_?”

Damian stills, heat still swirling in his gut.

“Renegade,” Ivy hums warningly.

Renegade twists his head to say something, giving Damian a good view of his profile. And what a nice profile it- _No_! Damian is _not_ going to fall prey to this _sex drug_ and sleep with someone he’s mad at.

He shudders as Renegade’s fingers slip up his back and rest at the base of his neck. “What are you-?”

-

When Damian wakes up, he’s no less aroused than he was in Ivy’s greenhouse. He’s being jostled around as Renegade climbs through what is probably a window, and the familiar smell of Renegade hits his senses. His higher train of thought recognizes that this must be Renegade’s safe house, then, if it smells so much like him. His pollen-clouded train of thought feels like the air is all but caressing him with the scent.

He grumbles something unintelligible, twisting around in Renegade’s arms until he’s attached to the man’s torso and mouthing at his neck.

“Hey, hey.” Renegade pries him off, setting him down on the edge of something soft. Oh, a bed. How convenient. Damian flops backwards, wiggling himself up the mattress and planting his boots on the sheets, knees spread obscenely wide.

“You’re _really_ intoxicated right now,” Renegade chuckles, apparently finding it more humorous than sexy, which is not at all what Damian is trying for.

“You’re an ass,” Damian complains, pressing his hips down to the bed.

“I’m trying to be on moral highground here, and not fuck you through the bed.”

“Not that,” He groans. “You tried to kill me.”

Renegade is silent for a moment, “Is this about the snipers? That was two weeks ago-”

“ _You’reanass_!” His words are slurring together, brain moving from drunk to fucking smashed in less than a breath. The pollen is still in his system, building up the effects now that it’s nice and integrated. Damian will not be still much longer, and he’d rather Renegade do something about it than watch as Damian inevitably takes care of the problem himself. “I don’t want to see your _face_.”

“You’ve never seen my face,” Renegade quirks his lips.

“Just _shutup_ and listen,” Damian snaps. “You’re an ass. _Youhurtmyfeelings_. You tried to kill me-”

“I hurt your feelings?” Renegade blinks, sounding truly surprised.

“ _Iwantyou_.” He swallows. Licks his lips. “I want you to take care of me. You…you know _how_ and I. Doing it by myself is _humiliating_ -”

“…you know that’s just the pollen talking. And in the morning you’re going to hate me for this.”

“I don’t care,” Damian seethed. “I _need_ this, _please_ -”

Renegade is in his face before he finishes begging, cupping Damian’s cheeks and drawing him into a deep kiss. Damian reciprocates insistently, pushing his tongue into Renegade’s mouth. The rogue pulls away, keeping his hands on Damian’s face. “Slow down,” He instructs calmly. “You’re letting the drug think for you. If you want to work it out of your system the right way, you have to take things slow. Too fast, and you’ll just have to do it again. The more you have to do it, the more sensitive you’ll get, and that can hurt.”

Damian furrows his brow, panting and swallowing, “I don’t want to hurt.”

“You don’t have to,” Renegade promises. “You just have to ease into it. Don’t rush it.”

Damian nods slowly. His mind is clearing a bit, but that brings all too much clarity to the other parts of him that are… _aware_. He bites his lip. “Renegade-”

“You don’t have to beg me,” He says. “I’m going to help, okay. I’m going to take things _slow_ , and tell you what I’m going to do before I do it. If you don’t want me to do it, tell me to stop.”

Damian nods again, attempting to even out his breathing. He’s still mad. Still angry and bitter and hurt about Renegade’s betrayal, but he knows how Ivy’s pollen works. He knows he needs this. The rest can come later.

“I’m going to undress you. Do you want me to leave the mask?”

Damian clicks his tongue lightly, going for the latches on his cape, “You already know who I am.”

“It might make you more comfortable.”

“No. I want it off.”

Renegade nods, done with the questions for now. He peels the Robin uniform from Damian like he’s done it a thousand times before – bastard probably knows every last detail about the design anyway – leaving him completely bare.

It strikes Damian that this is the first time he’s been naked in front of Renegade, but he doesn’t feel awkward or shy about it. While it’s probably the pollen keeping those feelings at bay, the undeniably hungry look in Renegade’s eyes – when had he put down the lenses? Damian can’t remember – helps.

“You.”

Renegade pauses, “You want me to undress too?”

“How else are you going to fuck me?” Damian scowls, shifting his hips and pretending that he isn’t already hard and leaking.

“I wasn’t,” Renegade blinks. “There are other ways to work this out of your system,” He leans to whisper in Damian’s ear, “and I’d rather our first time not be when you’re hiked up on sex pollen.”

Damian shivers and flushes, “What are you going to do?”

“You’ll like it,” Renegade says. “I’ll tell you before I do it.”

Renegade moves to the headboard, leaning back against the pillows and patting his thighs. Damian scoots forward, straddling without provocation and grinding down.

“Slowly,” Renegade reminds him.

Damian grumbles. “I want you to fuck me and you won’t. _This is slow_.”

Renegade chuckles, running one hand down Damian’s spine – again, Damian must have missed when he discarded his gloves because he feels skin against skin, not fabric – and wrapping the other around Damian’s erection to give a slow pump.

“You’re right,” Renegade says as Damian moans. “You’ve been waiting long enough, I think.”

Damian nods wordlessly, pressing closer and fixing his lips to the collar of Renegade’s suit. It tastes like spandex and armor, bland and unappealing, but it gives Damian something to muffle his mouth on.

It doesn’t quite work.

His moans still fill up the room, making his ears flush red in embarrassment even as he continues to moan and whimper and whine. Renegade’s hand feels amazing on him, even if he doesn’t seem to be getting closer to any kind of peak. The pleasure just keeps building and building, and Damian doesn’t think it’s going to stop unless Renegade switches up his technique.

He doesn’t hear the pop and squelch over his own voice, so it comes as a shock when something wet is suddenly smeared around his…his…Damian can hardly think about it without wanting to come, and he’s been wanting that since Renegade picked him up in Ivy’s garden.

“I’m going to put one ins-”

“ _Do it_ ,” Damian gasps, pushing out his hips in a way that he will probably feel ashamed about when he recalls the events of the night.

Renegade chuckles again, breath fanning Damian’s ear and making him twitch. His back arches when Renegade’s thumb teases around his hole, pressing more slick around the area.

“Don’t _tease_ me, I _can’t_ -!”

“Damian,” Renegade says languidly, “slow.”

Damian wrinkles his nose, “ _you_ said I waited long enough.”

“I was _referring_ to skipping over foreplay,” Renegade grins, “but, yes. I guess it could be applied to this part as well.”

Renegade hums, accompanying the sound with the slick press of his index finger inside Damian. Damian keens, rocking against the finger immediately. It doesn’t hurt at all. It feels great, and that’s definitely the pollen talking because he feels like he needs more. _Now_.

“Already?”

He must have said that out loud, then.

“Yes,” he groans, nodding hurriedly.

Renegade appraises him for a moment before nodding. “Alright, but I’m not going over two.”

“ _Just_ -”

He cuts himself off as another long finger joins the first, stretching the slightest bit. He ducks his head, wrapping his arms around Renegade’s neck for balance as an experimental thrust sends stars dancing across his vision.

“Ah-!”

“Good?”

Damian nods, keeping his head downturn. He doesn’t fight the instinct to rock back on Renegade’s fingers, moaning as the rogue starts up a slow pace of his own.

Damian hadn’t thought having something inside him would feel so…good. He’s no stranger to taking care of one’s arousal, but he’s never explored…himself, really. He’s fantasied about it. Had dreams about it. Most featuring the very man who happens to be opening him up right now, and Damian catches himself wishing Renegade would forego whatever strange moral system he’s working on tonight and just _fuck his brains out_.

Renegade stays true to his own advice, keeping his thrusts slow and steady. Damian doesn’t know why, but going slow seems to be working. His own grinds are staggered and languid, and he finds that clenching around the fingers brings more pleasure than having his cock touched.

“That’s the pollen, too.”

 _Fuck sh_ -

“For whatever reason, the pollen makes the stretch feel better than the actual act. It’s why you want more. You want it fast and rough. All of that contributes to the pollen staying in your system longer.”

“How do you know that?” Damian asks, voice shaking on a moan.

“I’ve been on it. Part of my training,” he snorts, “back in the day.”

The admission nearly stops Damian in his tracks, and if the pollen had been in his system for less time, he would have been able to. Instead, he kisses Renegade. It’s not refined – actually, it’s nothing but sloppy – but Renegade doesn’t seem to mind. He kisses back, rewarding Damian with the slightest increase in pace.

When he pulls away, Damian is panting. “I can’t come like this,” He whines. “I need _more_. _Something_.”

“You can,” Renegade purrs in his ear. “You _will_.”

Damian tries to scoff but it sounds more like a choked moan.

Renegade changes the pattern of his fingers suddenly, pressing his lips to Damian’s neck to suck and nip. Rather than the slow thrusting, he’s rubbing a slow circle around Damian’s prostate, pressing hard enough to have constant stimulation. It’s almost like a massage. A dirty, sexy massage.

Damian isn’t aware that his voice has jumped an octave when he whimpers, body tensing up and toes curling. It feels so good and Renegade is sucking on his neck right over his usual spot – and it shouldn’t make him happy that Renegade has a usual spot but he does – and now he’s biting instead of nipping and-

Damian’s back arches as he comes, a tearless sob wrenching from his throat. He slumps forward, curling in Renegade’s hold as his body shakes through his orgasm, only calming once his cock is spent and Renegade’s fingers have slipped out of him.

He swallows, trying desperately to catch his breath. He feels exhaustion slam into him, no doubt from being strung out for so long. He may not have been on drugs, but the pollen is its own tier of narcotic. His body has been riding a constant trip for the last few hours – hours? Half an hour? Damian has no idea – and it’s ready to crash.

He presses his lips together, too tired to protest when Renegade begins to shift him around into a more comfortable position. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

If Renegade has a response, he isn’t awake long enough to hear it.

 

 

 


	6. Aftercare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um. So I was going to put off the last few paragraphs until the next chapter but then it just sort of happened and...

Damian wakes up aching and disorientated. His head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton. His mind is suspiciously blank. He’s not wondering where he is or why he’s there. He just… _is_ ; mind habitually drifting to catalogue the damage while he blinks at the neutrally painted wall before him.

The corners of his eyes feel rubbed raw. His mouth feels dry. He aches and throbs from his neck to his ankles. He feels like was the victim of a hit-and-run. Or what he imagines being hungover must feel like. Or like he’d woken from a bad trip, which in a sense is entirely accurate.

Damian blinks, turning his head to survey the room. He catches details he hadn’t cared about the night before – a dresser in the corner, a door that probably leads to a hallway, a bar hanging from the ceiling that Damian recognizes as one of the training bars from the cave (well, obviously it’s not the same one but he knows what it’s used for, and _that_ conjures up images of Renegade running through a set of hanging crunches that he _doesn’t need right now_ ).

He’s lying in Renegade’s bed, but he’s very much alone, rolled on his side and wrapped up in more blankets than strictly necessary. The curtains are slowly fluttering in the wind, meaning the window is open, and the entire scene is…strange. Damian feels like he’s out of place. The atmosphere is entirely too calm for what had occurred the night before.

The night before…

Damian flushes when he thinks about it, pressing his face into the pillow and pulling one of the blankets up to hide his face. It was embarrassing enough that he’d asked Renegade for help – to _take care of him_ – but then he’d _thanked_ him like…like the rogue had done him some kind of _favor_ when Renegade had done nothing more than take advantage of a situation-

…no.

Damian knows that’s not what happened. Not entirely, anyway. Renegade _did_ take advantage of the situation, but only after Damian had asked him to do it. He had expected Renegade to take it much further than he had. He knew what he had been asking for when he’d asked, and he’d been asking for a…a _mercy fuck_. And he’d wanted it, too. But Renegade hadn’t done that. He’d stopped at fingers and said…and said…

_I’d rather our first time not be when you’re hiked up on sex pollen._

If it’s possible to flush a deeper shade of red, Damian does. He doesn’t think he’s the kind of person who puts things like first times or saccharine promises on pedestals, but…it’s _nice_. To think that Renegade _does_ want something special with him, or at least that Renegade _implies_ he does.

Thought processes are vicious circles though, because now Damian is right back to where he’d started the night before. Being _angry_. If Renegade _does_ want something special…something _nice_ with him, then why had he put snipers on him and Hood? Maybe it _is_ something he’s hung up on and maybe he _does_ understand the reason and maybe he even feels like – objectively – Renegade wouldn’t have actually told them to fire. None of that makes him less angry.

Any number of things could have gone wrong with that situation. One of the gunmen could have gotten trigger happy. One of them could have been a double-agent for another rogue in the city. One of them could have decided that despite Renegade’s orders, Robin needed to be taken down. And it’s _that_ \- the fact that Renegade _refuses to understand_ – that _really_ fuels Damian’s anger.

He pulls the blanket from his face, rolling to the other side of the bed. The layers of blankets stay snug around him, and Damian feels like it would be too much work to disentangle himself. It’s warm, too, which is nice considering he’s ninety percent positive he’s still naked.

Damian swallows dryly, wincing at the pang in his throat. He’d…used his voice a lot the night before, and it seemed like he still hadn’t had anything to drink. At least he feels _clean_ despite the night’s events, though…that begs the question of _why_ he feels clean. Had Renegade cleaned him up while he was asleep?

The click of the door captures his attention and Damian looks over his shoulder towards it. Renegade peers into the room, dressed in civilian clothes save for the mask he still dons. He smiles when he sees that Damian is awake, and ventures forward to sit on the free side of the bed.

“Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty,” Renegade greets. “Are you actually awake this time, or are you going to listen to me talk for a bit before passing out again?”

Damian furrows his brow. He can’t remember waking up before now. “I’m awake.” His voice comes out much quieter than he intends, and he winces for it.

“Good.” Renegade leans down to kiss his lips, “Stay awake. I’ll be right back.”

Damian stares after him as Renegade leaves the room. He feels exposed, even with the layers shielding him from the room. How is he supposed to act around Renegade now? He’d seen Damian naked. Possibly bathed him. Had his fingers _inside_ him.

Damian feels like he’s going to be sick. He’s shaking under the blankets, biting down on his tongue hard enough to make his eyes sting. His stomach churns and pinches, running on empty. He feels like he’s starving and dehydrated, and there is nausea crawling up his chest.

Most of this, he knows, is left over from the pollen. It’s an inhibitor, and all inhibitors have consequences. Damian should be thankful that it wasn’t fear toxin he’d been infected with. He’d seen the video feeds of recovery from that, and anything is better than seizing and screaming and seizing and screaming over and over again.

Renegade returns to the room, drawing Damian out of his thoughts, with a plate of food in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. “I thought tea was more appropriate than coffee, given there’s been so many boosters in your system.” He sits on the bed again, holding out the mug while keeping the plate on his lap. “I made eggs, bacon, and toast. I wasn’t sure which one you’d eat, so.” He shrugs.

Damian stares for a moment before unfurling from the blankets. He keeps most of them around his waist as he sits up, holding only one to his chest while he frowns awkwardly at the offering.

Renegade blinks behind the open lenses of his mask and cocks his head, “Do you want a shirt?”

Damian nods, not meeting the rogue’s eyes.

“Okay, ah.” Renegade looks around for a place to set the items he’d brought with him. Finding none, he gets up and walks to the dresser, setting the mug on the bare surface as he opens the top drawer. He digs around for a few moments before pulling out a dark article of clothing and tossing it behind him.

Damian pulls it on hastily as Renegade returns to the bed, tea back in hand. He glances down at the noticeable logo on the shirt, scowling at the artistic superman symbol.

 _Really_?

Renegade laughs at his distasteful expression, “I’m a big fan of the _S_.” He grins, “He could do a lot of damage on our side.”

“Your side,” Damian corrects, finally taking the cup and sipping at the hot drink.

“Our as in _general_ our,” Renegade says. “The dark side. The fun side. Whatever you want to call it.”

“The wrong side,” He murmurs into his tea.

“How are you feeling?” Renegade changes the subject.

He hesitates to answer and hopes that goes unnoticed. “I’m fine.”

“ _Mmhm_ ,” Renegade takes the mug from him and holds out the plate, “and how are you _really_ feeling?”

Damian takes a piece of toast from the plate, nibbling off the corner. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Well you have to talk about it. I need to know if you’re all clear, or if you’re having any nasty withdrawal symptoms.” Damian frowns as Renegade places the plate on the bed and takes a drink from the mug. “So. What hurts?”

Damian scowls at his bread.

“Damian,” Renegade presses.

“You _are_ an asshole,” Damian says bluntly. “You don’t even understand why it is I was- _am_ angry with you.”

“I do, actually.” Renegade offers a contrite smile. “I just don’t see how it changes anything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Renegade sighs, running a hand through his hair. “If I answer _your_ question will you answer _mine_?”

Damian thins his lips, nodding shortly. He doesn’t want to tell Renegade where he’s hurting because he’s hurting _everywhere_. Even… _there_ , though it’s less _hurt_ and more _sore_ , and Renegade _had_ been careful. Damian recalls that part of the evening well enough to remember the distinct lack of roughness in Renegade’s actions.

“Alright,” Renegade drops his hand to the bed. “I don’t think knowing why you’re upset with me will change anything because, well. When it comes down to it, we play for different teams and follow different rules. No matter how much I like you, I can’t let that get in the way of what I do, because Renegade is who I am as much as Robin is who you think you want to be.”

As much as Damian doesn’t want to admit it, Renegade’s logic makes sense. He’s right. At the end of the day, Renegade is an enemy to the mission, and forgetting that…or choosing to _ignore_ that…

“Don’t get me wrong, Dami. I _really_ like you. I _do_. But if you insist on being Batman’s partner and fighting in his war, there will always be a time that I have to be your enemy. That _sucks_ , but it’s the hand we’re playing right now.”

Damian bites his tongue, refusing to show any kind of reaction to the words. It _does suck_. It sucks because Renegade has shown, in the several months that he’s been hanging around, that he understands Damian much better than anyone else in Gotham.

“Now,” Renegade says, tone softened considerably, “How are you feeling?”

Damian sets down his slice of toast, shifting on the bed.

“ _Damian_ ,” Renegade presses.

“ _Everything hurts_ ,” he snaps. “Everything is _sore_ and as soon as I’m alone I’m probably going to throw up. _Happy_?”

“No, Damian, I’m not happy.” Renegade frowns, “why would _any_ of that make me happy?”

Damian doesn’t answer, glowering at where his bared skin disappears under blankets.

Renegade sighs, setting the plate and mug on the floor and shifting closer to Damian. He nudges the pile of blankets to the end of the bed with his foot, pulling Damian into his personal space and wrapping his arms around him.

“I don’t _want_ you to feel like you’re weak right now, Dami. I’m only asking because I need to know, and I _do_ care.”

“Does B- _Father_ know what happened?” That, Damian thinks, is what worries him the most about what comes _next_. If Bruce knows…and puts enough of the pieces together…

“Ivy left the Gardens shortly after we did. She wasn’t arrested, so I don’t think he knows where you are to begin with.”

“I should-”

“ _You_ should go to sleep,” Renegade cuts him off. “You aren’t feeling well enough to go back on your own, and it’s obvious that you’re…well, you still look a bit _trussed up_.”

Damian squints at the tone. He sounds both satisfied and concerned, and Damian can’t place which one Renegade is feeling more of (though he has his suspicions).

He feels Renegade’s fingers curl under his jaw, thumb running across his bottom lip and stopping in the center. “They’re still a bit swollen,” Renegade comments lightly. “Not much, but noticeable enough to perceptive folk like your dad.”

“ _Folk_?” Damian repeats bluntly, lips moving against Renegade’s thumb.

“I have an old school vernacular, Damian.”

“No you don’t. Words like _Batling_ aren’t _old_ school.”

Renegade chuckles, finally dropping his hand though he rests it at the curve of Damian’s waist instead. “True, but you get special treatment.”

Damian frowns, pressing the side of his face further into the pillow.

“Go to sleep, Damian. You need it.”

He swallows, throat feeling slightly better than when he’d woken up. Whether it’s from the tea or not being so focused on it because Renegade is (purposefully _?_ ) invading his senses, he doesn’t know. He just knows it helps. “Okay,” He acquiesces quietly.

Silence envelops the room, leaving Damian to stew in thoughts that aren’t quite ready to give him enough peace to fall asleep. When he can’t take the uneasy twisting of his stomach anymore, he speaks up softly.

“Will you stay?”

He doesn’t like the idea of waking up to an empty bed again, even if Renegade had probably been using the time to make him breakfast. He swallows again, when there’s not an immediate response, glancing up.

Renegade is staring down at him, a peculiar gleam in his eyes. It’s not his typical ‘ _you-just-did-something-that-pleases-me-greatly_ ’ look that has the tendency to make Damian more uncomfortable than anything. It’s more like…surprise. Happy shock; if there is such an expression.

He wraps his fingers around the back of Damian’s neck, bringing him close to press his lips to Damian’s forehead. “Of course,” Renegade murmurs. “Even if you didn’t want me to.”

Damian doesn’t think that’s supposed to be comforting, but it is. He shifts closer to Renegade, drinking his warmth. It’s comfortable, and Damian finds it much easier to fall asleep than he usually does.

When he wakes up and is _himself_ again, he doesn’t think he’ll be any less angry at the rogue, but Renegade is _here_. He’s here for Damian and he’s being gentle and kind and considerate, and that doesn’t make up for what he did but it _does_.

Damian closes his eyes and lets sleep overtake him once more.

-

His slumber is not steady. He drifts in and out of consciousness; sometimes feeling like he’s burning – _aching_ to be infected again; withdrawal – and sometimes feeling content to lie back and sleep the day away.

At some point, he thinks he hears voices; Renegade’s soothing timbre and an unfamiliar, rough tone. He almost wakes up, but Renegade’s hand traces along his neck and through his hair and it puts him back to sleep quickly.

When he finally does wake up, he’s somehow managed to twist himself back up in the blankets and roll precariously close to the edge of the bed.  He shifts and scoots away from the edge, muscles not at all protesting the movements. Good; _progress_.

He stretches out slowly, listening to the satisfying pop of his bones as they shift and settle back in to place. He shakes his head, clearing the sleep away from his mind, glances to side, and stills.

The side of the bed where Renegade had been is empty, and a sick, sinking feeling in Damian’s stomach tells him that this time he’s not going to be coming back with food or drink or anything in-between.

This time, Renegade is gone.

 

 


	7. Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I've read Rose, so if she's off I apologize!!!
> 
> Many thanks to spectra-electra on tumblr for rush-beta-ing this for me ~

Damian is more or less positive that the others know why he’s been in such a terrible mood these last couple of weeks, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care anymore. He’s hurt. He’s angry. He’s waiting for Renegade to just show up like he always does so he can push the asshole off the roof and watch him fall.

Two weeks. It’s been _two weeks_ since Damian woke up in Renegade’s safe house by himself, and he hasn’t seen or heard from him since. It’s different from when Damian was actively avoiding Renegade. He knew where Renegade was. Oracle and Batman and even _Red Hood_ knew where Renegade was. Now? None of them have the faintest idea where the rogue has disappeared to.

Batman is pleased. It’s obvious in the set his jaw has during patrol, when he isn’t worrying about Damian being kidnapped or grabbed or having his wire cut. He’s glad to see the rogue has – apparently - left town, and he makes it no secret that he thinks Damian should share the feeling.

Damian does, and Damian doesn’t.

Having Renegade out of town, or wherever he is, is only beneficial when he wants patrol to go smoothly. Any other time, Damian is not happy at all. They…they _did_ things. Renegade did things, anyway, and Damian let him and wanted him to, and he...Renegade took care of him, and then he left town the next _day_?

Had…had he been that _bad_?

Damian curses Renegade even more for making thoughts like that come to mind. He is going to hunt the bastard down, string him up, and beat the damn answers out of him. Forget going easy on villains and trying not to break bones. He wants to break all the important ones, and then some more. He wants to beat Renegade until his knuckles are bruised and bleeding. He wants to make Renegade _hurt_.

(He wants to press their lips together and bite Renegade’s tongue until it bleeds. He wants to feel their teeth clack together, feel Renegade’s fingers dig into the skin at his waist, see his _eyes_.)

He doesn’t _love_ Renegade – he can’t love someone he doesn’t really know – but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss him.

And after everything, that’s what angers (hurts) him the most. He misses Renegade, because when all is said and done, Renegade did things for him that no one else in the family could do. He _listened_. Even when he thought Damian’s problems weren’t problems at all, he listened.

Two weeks turns into three, then four, and Damian decides to take matters into his own hands. Using the computer is a risky option; Bruce is still monitoring him, watching for any sign that Renegade may have gotten under his skin (entirely too late to prevent that from happening). Damian knows several people in the city who he could leech information from, but he doesn’t want anyone asking about his connection to the rogue.

In the end, Jason is the best option.

-

“So,” Jason takes a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling from the corner of his mouth towards Damian’s face. Damian wrinkles his nose, holding his breath until the smoke passes. “What did you want to chat about?”

“That is a disgusting habit.”

Jason plucks the cigarette from his lips. He eyes the burning end for a moment, as if contemplating Damian’s words, before shrugging. “It’s not like I do it for the taste.”

“Why, then?”

“Didn’t you come here to talk about _you_?”

Damian shifts, folding his arms behind him. He leans back against the wall, lifting his leg and pressing the ball of his foot against the brick. “It’s been quiet.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“In _Gotham_ ,” Damian stares, tone bland.

“I know what you meant.” Jason rolls his eyes, taking another hit. “Yeah. ’ts been quiet on my side too. A few weeks ago the mob families were gearing up for war. Now it’s like their alliances were never broken.”

“I don’t care about the mob.” Damian pulls his hood further down his head. He shoves his hands in the joint pocket of the sweatshirt. “I _meant_ it’s been quiet on the rogue front.”

Jason inclines his head, cigarette hanging between his lips. “Quiet for Gotham, maybe. Most of the usual suspects haven’t broken out of Arkham in a while. If something is going down, it’s going down behind closed doors, and gates, and state of the art security systems.”

Damian stares across the alley, eyes fixed to the line where street meets brick. “What have you heard of Renegade?”

Jason glances down at Damian, though the look goes unnoticed by the younger male. “He’s been off the radar.”

“You had to have heard something.” Damian scowls, not tearing his eyes away from his focal point. “You’re Red Hood. You have ears everywhere.”

“While I’m flattered by your impression of my influence,” Jason drawls, “I don’t know shit about Renegade’s whereabouts. Never have. He comes, he goes. Trying to keep tabs on anyone affiliated with Deathstroke is dangerous.”

“It can’t be more dangerous than what we do _every night_.” Damian finally moves his eyes, pinning Jason with a stern frown. “You know something.”

“I don’t, actually.” Jason holds his smoke between his fingers as he inhales the afternoon air. “Like I said, Deathstroke is pretty vigilant about keeping an eye out for his protégés, despite what people think. He doesn’t appreciate people keeping tabs on his… _family_ , and he makes that pretty clear to those who try.”

Damian can’t help but curl his lip, “So no one knows where he is?”

“Why are you so interested?” Jason lifts a thick brow. “I was under the impression you weren’t happy with him. Is that impression _wrong_?”

Damian averts his eyes, painting on a passive air. “He owes me.”

“Owes you what?”

“…an explanation.” Damian snaps his gaze back to the so-called black sheep of the family. “What does my interest matter to you? I just need to find him, not swap feelings in some back alley in the slums.”

“Your interest belays _intent_ , and your intent matters because I might know someone who can give you answers, but I’m not about to introduce the two of you if your intent is to do damage.” Jason rolls a shoulder. “I work my ass off for the connections I have. I’ll be damned if I let you use them only to fuck with them.”

Damian pushes off the wall, sharply turning on his heel to face Jason. “Who can help me?”

Jason blinks, taking a purposefully slow drag.

“ _Who_ , Todd?”

Jason snorts, shaking his head. “Your ‘an explanation’ excuse is bullshit. What do you want from him?”

“It’s not bullshit.”  
“It is. You think I can’t see through a lie? A bad one, at that?”

“We _slept_ together, and then he left town.” Damian snaps, and he can feel his own expression morph into a feral glare. “I want an explanation. I _deserve_ one. It’s. Not. _Bullshit_.”

Jason stares for a moment, caught between shock and suspicion. Ultimately, though, he knows Damian wouldn’t lie about something like that. Something so intimate. “You slept together?”

“I’m not going into detail,” Damian balls his fingers to fists within the pocket of his hoodie. “Is that intent _good enough_ for you?”

Jason exhales through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, shit.” He says, tone unsure and cautious. “Yeah, I’d. Say that’s a pretty good reason, alright.”

Damian pauses. “You’ll help, then?”

“I’ll contact my contact. The helping part is up to them.” Jason drops his hand. “You slept with Renegade?”

Damian narrows his eyes.

“Have you considered that may have been his goal? As fucked up as that-”

“Yes, I’ve considered that.” Damian interrupts, stoic. “Regardless; I want to know where he went.”

He doesn’t voice the thought that’s been plaguing him lately; that Renegade wouldn’t have spent such a long time chasing him just to disappear after what they did. That Renegade was too…invested in him to up and leave without proper cause. That’s what he _hopes_ to discover, anyway.

Jason sighs, long and weighted. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

Damian nods, turning towards the mouth of the alley.

“Damian.”

He stills, but doesn’t look back.

“If she agrees to meet with you, it’s going to be because she wants something in return.”

Damian nods, keeping his eyes forward. “Doesn’t everyone?”

-

It takes a few days for Damian to hear anything about Jason’s supposed connection. Eventually, though, he receives a message from the older man containing a time and location for a rendezvous.

 _Gotham Central Station; 1:00. Dress Down_.

Damian shifts on the bench he’s been occupying the last few minutes. He’s as dressed down as he can get without giving away his full identity – black jeans, black shoes, white hoodie, and his usual domino mask securely in place. He darts his eyes around the near-empty platform, studying the few people he comes across. A woman waits by a well-lit column, phone held to her ear and soft smile on her lips. A teenager sits in the middle of the platform, legs crossed and headphones covering his ears, head bobbing to music that no one else can hear. A business man stands several feet from the rest, constantly switching his suitcase between hands and checking his wristwatch.

None of them particularly strike him as people Jason would ally himself with. None of them strike him as people that would know anything about Renegade, either. He crosses his ankles, glancing at the large clock above the stairs leading to the main level of the station. It’s fifteen minutes past one, and he’s working on borrowed time. He has until Batman’s patrol is finished, because there’s little doubt that he’s going to be checked up on once Bruce returns. It isn’t often that he declines going on patrol, even with the current – _temporary_ – drop in rogue activity.

He glances around again, looking for something – or _someone_ – he may have missed.

“You’re looking in the wrong direction.”

The husky voice comes from behind him, and Damian twists. A young woman – a teenage girl, really, though obviously older than he – is leaning on the back of the bench. She’s got on a dark tee, a pair of low-riding jeans, and a black baseball cap holding a thick mass of silver hair at bay. Her eyes are hidden by a pair of large, dark sunglasses, but they do nothing to hide her amused air.

Damian narrows his eyes, remaining static. “You’re Hood’s contact?”

“Jason’s? Yeah.” She rounds the bench, sitting against the far arm. She rests an arm over the back of the bench, tapping her nails against the metal. “You’re him, then? _Robin_.”

Damian turns, facing her directly. “What do you know about Renegade?”

“Cutting right to the chase, aren’t you?” She snorts. “But not so fast, Robin. This isn’t a favor. This is a _trade_. _Quid pro quo_.”

Damian scowls, “And you want what?”

“You’re asking about Renegade. Why?”

“That’s my business-”

“And my information to give. You’re asking about Renegade. _Why_?”

Damian grits his teeth, setting his jaw. He doesn’t know how much Jason already gave up, nor does he really know who this girl is.

“I’m not giving that sort of information to a nameless face.”

She doesn’t move, but Damian distinctly gets the feeling she’s rolling her eyes. “I’m _Ravager_. Didn’t Hood tell you that much?”

“Ravager?” Damian allows himself the surprise. “ _You’re_ Deathstroke’s daughter?”

“Careful.” She tilts down her glasses enough to a narrowed eye. “Don’t sound so surprised. Might hurt my _feelings_.”

“Where’s Renegade?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“That’s personal.”

“Tough luck, then, Robin.”

Damian narrows his eyes in response. He bites his tongue, unsure of how much information he should divulge to Renegade’s…sister? Todd had said they were a family, so Damian can only make a guess. He doesn’t know the first thing about the Ravager, only that she’d once been a Titan under Drake’s leadership and has since changed her tune. He debates leaving – he can find his own intel, even if he has to reach out to some old and unsavory contacts to do so – but the promise of information is _right there_.

All he has to do is tell a lie that Ravager – or Rose Wilson, according to Drake’s files – will believe.

“Renegade and I work together from time to time. If he left town because someone is on our trail, I need to know.”

She hums, long and low. “You work together.” He can practically hear the air quote around her words. Her tone turns to wry amusement, and it reeks of Renegade. It must be a family trait. “Is _that_ what they’re calling it these days? _Working together_?”

Damian can feel his stomach drop, and he hopes his expression isn’t doing the same. “What?”

“I saw you in Ren’s safe house. In his _bed_.” She leans back, smirking. “So does he sleep with everyone he works with, or are you just special?”

Damian swallows, scowling. “If you already knew about that-”

“Why did I ask?” She shrugs. “I was curious how willing you’d be to tell. In _our_ world, getting that close to someone as… _influential_ , I guess, as Renegade gives bragging rights.”

“Influential?”

“Yeah, he pretty much has an in with any…what do you call us? Rogues? In the country, and then some.” She studies him behind her sunglasses. “You really don’t know shit about him, do you?”

Damian frowns, shifting. “None of this explains why he left.”

She sighs, stretching her legs out before her. “Dad called. I’m technically supposed to be on my way back too, but Hood promised good money if I pit stopped here.”

“Why?”

“That’s family business.” She lifted a shoulder. “You can think of it as a mandatory family reunion, if you will.”

Damian blinks, mulling over his next question. He’s not entirely sure he wants to ask, but…if he doesn’t, he’ll regret not knowing, especially if there’s a definitive answer. “When will he come back?”

It’s her turn to still, and she pins him a look that’s most likely all surprise behind the dark shades. “I don’t know. I don’t know _if_ he’ll come back. Dad’s the one that sent him here, and he did what he was supposed to with the mob scene. We’re a family unit. If Dad sends him somewhere else, he’ll go there.”

Damian scowls down at his feet, “Do you always do what your father tells you to?”

“Don’t you?” She snorts. “Hypocrite.”

Damian turns his scowl to her, deepening his frown as she stands. She looks down the tracks as the warning bells begin to ring, preceding the coming train. “For what it’s worth, the timing sucks, and I’m sorry about that. Ren seems to actually like you,” She looks back at him, “but it would be better to forget about it and move on. Even if he does come back, it won’t be for a long time.”

“What I do is none of your business,” Damian keeps his tone cool, despite her words.

She shrugs, “do what you want. I don’t really care.”

“Then why did you agree to come?”

She doesn’t answer as the train pulls into the platform, slowing to a stop and doors sliding open. A few people mill out, but most stay on. The woman, teenager, and businessman all make their way towards the waiting transport. “I wanted to see who managed to catch Ren’s eye. He doesn’t exactly have a long attention span, so I was curious.”

The reason, to be honest, makes Damian a little uncomfortable.

“I’m not impressed.” She stalks towards the doors of the train, leaving him to stare after her in silence.

He doesn’t move until the train, and the girl, is gone, and even then it’s only to slump against the back of the bench. So. That was Renegade’s sister.

He isn’t impressed, either.

-

Rose takes a seat in the farthest corner of the train, crossing her legs and taking off her sunglasses. The patch that covers her eye – where her eye used to be – blocks the rest of the people on board, allowing her a semi-private space.   
“What did he want to know?”

Rose leans back, comfortable brushing against the man sitting beside her. “He wanted to know where you went. I don’t see why you couldn’t just leave him a note or something.” She rolls her eye.

Her brother smiles faintly, leaning back as well. “I was curious.”

“About?”

“What you’d think of him,” he gives her a simple grin. “So?”

“He’s boring.”

“He’s holding back,” Renegade corrects. “Did he ask you anything else?”

Rose sighs, making sure it sounds as exasperated as she feels. “He wanted to know if you were coming back.”

Renegade hums, looking to the ceiling of the train. “Well,” he says, “I certainly hope so.”

 

 


	8. Brontide

It’s a cool night in the city, especially for the middle of July. The air lacks the usual humidity that enjoys clinging to the vigilantes that stalk the night, providing a rather comfortable environment for the various patrols around the city. It’s a rare commodity from Lady Gotham, and one her protectors are not taking for granted. Most have shed their layers – Hood in the slums sans helmet, and the rest of them wearing the lightweight versions of their usual uniforms – and half of them have plans to meet up for rooftop ice cream once patrol has finished, to enjoy the temperature before the sun comes up and ruins it.  

That being the half that does not include Damian, of course.

He stands vigil on the roof of Gotham Central Bank with nothing but shadows as company. His cape moves slowly in the wind, the force not enough to make a noise, leaving him in the silence of his thoughts. Most nights, Damian would find that comforting. For the last few weeks, though, his thoughts have been anything but. He’s treading thin ice with everyone in his so-called family, to the point where solo patrol is just easier – and better – for all of them. Damian doesn’t need them watching over his shoulder, making sure he holds back just enough strength when he fights. Granted they have a reason to be concerned, but Damian is sick of the scrutiny.

It’s been two months since the incident, and he hasn’t slipped up since. The obvious mistrust is starting to grate on…well every part of him, really.

Four months ago, Ravager had given him the news about Renegade’s departure, and the scant likelihood that he would return to Gotham. In the two months following, Damian had done little to curb his blatant frustration and anger with the rogue. In the end, he’d sent a measly thug to the hospital – one that still hadn’t woken up from the coma Damian had beaten him into. He’d been benched for a month, and now that he’s back in uniform, it’s rare that he has a night to himself.

His com crackles to life, breaking through his thoughts. “Robin.”

Rare, indeed.

He lifts his hand to the bud nestled in his ear, pressing down. “What?”

“Location?” Batman’s way of not-so-subtly reminding him that he’s not supposed to be patrolling alone, even if flying solo is a better option, in addition to seeing if he’ll lie. Damian isn’t stupid, though. He knows he’s being tracked every night.

“The bank.” He snaps, digging his heel to the concrete of the roof, resisting the urge to snidely add ‘but you already know that’.

“There’s a situation at my coordinates. Get here.” Batman is off the com before Damian can say anything, though he’s more likely to scowl and sneer quietly these days.

Damian flicks up the GPS-infused lenses of his mask, painting the world in shades of green. A thin, bright white line directs him off the roof, towards the shadier parts of the slums. He reaches for his grapple and jumps, shooting off once he’s in the air. It’s dangerous, and reckless, but he doesn’t care.

It’s not like there’s anyone who’s going to cut it.

-

Damian arrives on the scene eight minutes after his father’s order. He’d made a quick pit stop when he’d passed an attempted mugging – attempted because, obviously, he’d stopped it – and taken his sweet time, but the scene he swings down to is…

Surprising, to say the least.

Several could-be gang members are piled atop one another, unconscious and, from the looks of it, heavily damaged. He can see broken teeth, bruised faces, and deep cuts that are still trickling blood. They look like death warmed over, though Damian is unsure _why_.

It makes starting conversation rather easy. “What’s going on?”

Batman looks up, all shadow and darkness and disapproval hiding behind thin lips. “Oracle caught the image on a street cam. She wasn’t able to see who did it, due to the angle.”

Damian turns his eyes to the practical dog pile, lifting an eyebrow. “I don’t see why it matters. They’re criminals, and now they’re incapacitated.”

If possible, his father’s frown grows deeper, sterner. “Some of these men might have permanent damage.”

“They probably deserve it. That doesn’t explain why you wanted me here.”

Batman sets his jaw, and doesn’t speak. It isn’t long before Damian understands _why_.

“You think _I_ did this?” Damian gestures shortly to the pile of beaten-up criminals.

“You were in the area, and you’ve done so before, and your lack of sympathy is noticeable.”

“I didn’t.” Damian snaps, hotly. “I’ve been on the roof of the bank for the last thirty minutes.”

“You’re close enough to come and go without one of Oracle’s cameras catching your trip.”

“I didn’t do this.”

“You’ve done this before,” Batman’s voice doesn’t exactly rise, but it gains an impressive amount of force. “The man you put in the hospital is still there, and he probably won’t ever leave, even if he _does_ wake up.”

“That was _one_ _accident_.”

“It was a man’s _life_ , and you almost ended it.”

“But I didn’t!” Damian feels like yelling, but his voice is surprisingly even. “I didn’t kill him. Stop treating me like I did.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Neither of them speak, holding each other’s gaze with white lenses to hide behind. Batman is the first to break the silence, and he does so with a clipped sigh. “Return to the manor. You’ll be benched for another month-”

“I didn’t do this!”

“And I don’t believe you!” Bruce replies, tone matching Damian’s. He squares his shoulders, cape falling around him like liquid shadow. “I don’t believe you, Robin. I wish I could, but I don’t.”

“You don’t trust me.” Damian curls his fingers into fists, curbing the urge to point and make rude hand gestures.

“I wish I could.”

Damian holds his breath for a moment. He’s so sick of this. He knows the real reason Bruce doesn’t trust him – he found out about Damian’s meeting with Ravager. Found out that, _four months ago_ , Damian was interested in where Renegade had disappeared to.

It’s not about that anymore. This is about something else. It has to be. Maybe his upbringing, or his maternal bloodline, or the fact that once, _on accident_ , he’d done the same thing to one man who’d pointed a loaded gun at the Bat himself.

“Will you ever trust me?”

“I trust those who have earned it.”

“And I haven’t?” Damian demands, finally letting his voice surge up in anger. “I gave up my _life_ to be here. To be _your_ Robin. I lost everything to be your _son_ , and you can’t even afford me the benefit of the doubt?”

Bruce thins his lips, and Batman growls “I can’t.”

And Damian doesn’t know if it’s the past few months, or the fact that really, if he’s honest with himself, from the day he arrived in Gotham  all those years ago he was never welcome, but it feels like time comes crashing down around him. Batman won’t trust him. Bruce has never, _fully_ , trusted him. He’s too much of an al Ghul to be a Wayne, and he should have known that from the start.

“Fine.” Damian keeps his tone cool. “If you can’t trust your own partner, then you have no use for one. I quit.”

“Robin-”

“I _quit_ ,” He says, louder. “ _All_ I wanted was for you to _trust me_. To be.” Proud. Proud of Damian, and what he’d done and how hard he’d worked to become someone worthy of the uniform. Worthy of being Batman’s partner.

Obviously that work has been for naught.

Damian moves, not fully facing Batman but not fully turned away. “I _tried_ for you. I didn’t have to do that. I changed who I was so you would accept me.”

If the words have any effect on Batman – on Bruce; on his _father_ – he either doesn’t show it, or Damian is too blinded by his anger and hurt to see it.

Fine. If he’s not going to break, Damian isn’t going to hold back any punches.

“- _tt_ -” He spits. “Renegade was right about you, in the end. Wanting you to trust me was _pathetic_.” He turns, turning away from the man he’d spent the first ten years of his life idolizing. “You weren’t worth it.”

He stalks away from his father, throat feeling thick and stomach heavy. This is the second time in his fifteen years that he’s walked away from something, but this time is different. This time, there’s no taking it back. This time, it’s permanent.

He’s the son of Batman no longer, and in this moment it feels like he never was.

-

When Damian returns to the manor, the first thing he does is shirk the uniform. He does fold it meticulously – old habits – and store it in the proper locker, but he leaves the contents of his utility belt strewn over the bench and floor. He shoves the boots in an empty duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder and storming up the stairs.

He’s packing up his room before he fully realizes what he’s doing, and the thought makes him pause. What _is_ he doing? Yes, he quit being Robin, but if he leaves, where will he go? Talia has made it clear she won’t take him back unless he’s a killer, and as much as Damian wants to taunt his father, he doesn’t think he can go back to that. He’s been Robin for almost six years, now.

Six years of taking the high road. Damian isn’t entirely sure he could kill anymore, at least, not the way his mother would want him to.

He doesn’t know anyone in the city that could shelter him for long. Todd isn’t an option – too many connections to Bruce, and…well, Damian doesn’t know anyone else. He vaguely knows Colin, but they rarely talk and it’s not like the boy has a roof to offer.   
Renegade…well, he’s gone, and even if he was there to offer, Damian isn’t sure it would be wise to accept.

He can probably make due with one of the downtown bunkers, at least for now. Pick the pockets of muggers and thugs until he has enough untraceable funds to set up his own place. A _decent_ place.

It strikes him, then, that he’s not considering leaving Gotham as an option. Through everything, Gotham has become his home. He’s…not entirely sure that’s something he wants. A home. A city to protect. He’s never had that before Robin. When he was with the League, they were never in one place for long, jumping from base to base to find different tutors and trainers and targets. This – Gotham – is the first time he’s ever been static.

It’s strange.

He continues packing, pushing thoughts to the side. He takes his art supplies, enough clothes to last him the week, and the envelope full of cash he’s been siphoning from one of the unused Wayne Tech projects. It’s enough to buy himself food for the next few weeks, and clothes, and the knowledge that it’s come to having to use it lessens the guilt for, more or less, stealing it from under his father’s nose.

He pulls on a pair of shoes, zips up his jacket, and leaves his room.

For a moment, Damian wonders how he’s going to get to town from the manor. Pennyworth will hardly agree to taking him this late, if Bruce hadn’t already called him and revealed what happened during patrol. He does have the bike, though, and he can ditch that – as much as he doesn’t want to – once he gets into town.

Of course, there’s the little problem of each safe house – even the decommissioned ones – being directly connected to the system. If Damian does elect to use one for the night, Bruce will know by morning exactly where he is, how long he’s been there, and how much electricity he’s using.

There isn’t really another place he can go.

He does have a key to Renegade’s main safe house. He doesn’t know if it’s still going to work, given that he hasn’t tried it in months, but…

Bruce doesn’t know where it is. No one in Gotham knows where it is except Renegade, and Damian.

He’d been there once before the… _pollen_ incident, so navigating the way won’t be too difficult. He remembers where the key is hidden – on Renegade’s request – and he remembers that the funding is all taken care of by “my benefactor”, as Renegade had said, which probably meant Deathstroke. Damian is going to have to reroute that somehow, especially if he wants to keep such a notorious assassin off his trail (Deathstroke had killed people for less than leeching off his expenditures. Probably), even if it _could_ maybe, possibly, bring Renegade back to Gotham.

So he’ll go there. He’s familiar with the layout, and he vaguely recalls that it’s still stocked – at least in the bathroom and canned food department. He can shop for other things in the morning, when he’s a little less hurt and a little less angry.

He strides back down the stairs, feeling slightly better now that he has a general plan. He still wonders if, maybe, he’s jumping the gun and overreacting, but- No. He’s made his decision. Better to be on his own. He will _always_ be better off on his own. He, at least, trusts himself.

Damian swings a leg over his bike, starting it up with a few experimental revs. He looks around the cave, taking in the large computer system and the path to the hanger and the giant coin and the various souvenirs his father has collected over the years. He takes it all in, and he wonders…knows this is the last time he’ll see the inside of the cave like this.   
Damian turns, and drives away.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the Renegade portion of this AU.  
> There will be another story, once I have enough chapters written beforehand and ready to go, but I'm not going to reveal what that one will be called quite yet.  
> Don't worry! This isn't the end of the series!! Just the first "arc", so to speak.  
> Thank you all for sticking around until the end of this one, and I hope you'll follow along to the next ~


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